


The Wrong Sort of Whatever

by Schattenriss



Series: The Contours of Shadows [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bees, Character Development, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Novelization, Trespasser Spoilers, humor and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5602102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/pseuds/Schattenriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freed from the tyranny of word budgets and having to take multiple character paths into account, a (very) expanded novelization of Trespasser, as told by Inquisitor Kai Trevelyan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a personal project because there were so many parts of Trespasser that felt like they were missing the rest of the story (for example: the Inquisitor's supposedly been in a relationship with - in this case, Dorian - for years, but outside of a few cut scenes they may as well be friendly acquaintances? He goes through hell with the Anchor and loses an arm but is somehow just fine with all that immediately?). Over 83,000 words later, it had clearly become a full novelization. As such, I tried to keep the dialogue reasonably intact except when it made no narrative sense or sounded really awkward. That said, this isn't a straight word-for-word reiteration; there has been a great deal added throughout the entire narrative.

Have I ever told you how I lost my arm?

"Lost my arm".  Makes it sound like it got misplaced after a particularly enthusiastic night at the pub.  Pfah.  And it's the left arm, which truly adds insult to injury, as I'm - I _was_ \- left handed.  Now I'm having to write this with the dumb right one; the hand that was happy to assist in simple tasks and leave anything that required some precision to the far more ambitious left hand. It's taken to its new position as sole agent of all things handy with as much enthusiasm as an Orlesian noble at a Ferelden barn dance.  

But enough - even a phantom reader isn't likely to invest much time in a multi-page treatise on how I feel hard done by. A friend assured me "writing it out" might help me in some way. I figure it's worth a shot. I may even remember something that could help avert the disaster that's coming ( _oooh! Foreshadowing!_ ). So I'll pretend someone other than myself might read this one day and tell you what happened.  

No, not the whole story of the death of Divine Justinia, the Rifts, the Mage-Templar war and the eventual victory over the darkspawn magister Corypheus. It's already been told, and told better, most notably by Varric Tethras in his book _All This Shit is Weird_ (I cannot believe he went with that title). It's what happened _after_. Most residents of our little corner of the world had no idea anything beyond typical political posturing was even going on. There were a handful of people in positions of power throughout southern Thedas that knew a bit about what happened and most of them would tell you it was all a Qunari plot that got foiled. 

The other part of the story - the _important_ part - the majority of those who were told didn't seem to take seriously. Probably because it concerns elves, and they just can't wrap their minds around the idea that elves could pose a serious threat. But all that comes much later. As an opener I'll just say… shit got weirder.  

**###**

I suppose a brief introduction is in order: My name is Kai Trevelyan, though most people probably remember me as The Inquisitor or the Herald of Andraste. Through a series of events that sound ludicrous even to me - and again, have been recounted elsewhere - I became the titular head of the Inquisition. Originally this wasn't due to the people who formed the Inquisition having any particular regard for me. It was, depending on how you look at it, sheer dumb luck or comically bad misfortune.

By walking into a situation at precisely the right - or wrong - time, a piece of ancient elven magic became permanently embedded in my left hand. It glowed a pretty green, and enabled me to close the Fade rifts that were ripping open, spilling demons throughout southern Thedas. As the sole Rift-closer that Thedas possessed, not to mention the sole survivor of Divine Justinia's ill-fated Conclave, I was ideal as a figurehead for the new organization; all they had to hope was I wasn't dumb as a bag of rocks. Oh, and that people would overlook the fact that I’m a mage.

It was a happy surprise for everyone, myself included, to discover that, while I'm not particularly fond of it, I'm actually quite good at leading large organizations and making sensible decisions in difficult circumstances. It wasn’t long before I’d become head of the Inquisition in fact as well as title.

 _Very_ long story short, we ended the Mage-Templar war, stopped Orlais' civil war (at least for a time), and made some lasting - and I believe mostly positive - changes in the world. Oh - and killed Corypheus and closed the bloody great hole in the sky. My colleague and friend Cassandra Pentaghast, former Right Hand of Divine Justinia and a bloody good fighter, became the Divine Victoria, head of the new, improved Chantry, Varric returned to Kirkwall to write his book, and I spent a great deal of time trudging back and forth across southern Thedas closing stray rifts.

And there was peace across the land…

…for about two years. Long enough for people to rebuild, regroup and remember all the old enmities they'd had to set aside when war had so rudely interrupted their petty squabbles. Long enough for others to decide they'd best launch their biggest and best plans to fuck things up before this peace thing caught on permanently.

The story I'm going to recount begins shortly before the Exalted Council was to commence at the Winter Palace in Orlais. I had no choice but to attend, as the subject of the Council was the Inquisition. Orlais wanted to coopt us, Ferelden wanted to disband us, and I…should let the story tell itself.

 

**Chapter One - Day One**

"I fail to see why it is necessary that I dress like a court jester."

"Inquisitor. This is Orlais and you are making an Entrance."

I swear, you could hear the capital "E".

"A certain amount of grandeur and embellishment is expected." Josephine Montelier is the Inquisition's lead diplomat and she's very good at her job. At times annoyingly good. "And you are _not_ being asked to dress like a court jester."

"I feel like one. All it needs is a few extra sparkly bits." I glared at my reflection in the mirror. It glared brightly back at me, smug in its Orlesian _grandeur_. "It's not like no one knows what I look like, you know."

"That is not the point. You need to make an impression."

"Black is impressive. This suggests I'll be sending my trained nug into the crowd to gather coin at the end of the procession."

Josephine exhaled gustily, nearly extinguishing the flame on the candle affixed to her portable writing tablet. "Inquisitor. _Kai_. This is an Exalted Council. The Game demands you impress, yes, but not by looking like you're about to- to kick the _asses_ of everyone there."

I heard a bark of laughter behind me. "Perhaps he should. Maker knows playing by their rules doesn't seem to have gotten us terribly far ahead." Cullen Rutherford, ex-Templar and the Inquisition's military commander, nodded agreeably to me as he walked through the open doorway. He was in matching Orlesian-appropriate grandeur to my own, though he seemed more at ease in it.

"Don't encourage him," Josie groaned. "Don't you think that's part of the reason they're starting to panic?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Because I happen to look both dangerous and dashing in black?"

Cullen snorted. "You've been spending far too much time with Dorian. He's rubbing off on you."

"Not nearly enough time lately. Or rubbing," I muttered. One more thing I wasn't particularly happy about these days.

Josephine ignored both of us. "As far as both Orlais and Ferelden are concerned, the Inquisition _is_ dangerous. _You_ are dangerous, Inquisitor. Reminding them of that when we're supposed to be negotiating with them in good faith would not be considered a social gaffe; it would be considered a provocation."

"Might I point out that this shade of red is almost precisely the same shade as the blood someone with a punctured lung coughs up, yet the Orlesians consider it festive?" I frowned at the mirror again. _How did I reach a point in life where I would even know that little factoid?_

"I thought the Orlesians' main problem with black is they think it's dull and unimaginative, not scary."

"They do," Josephine began.

"It's when you add in the glowy green magic hand of death and the private army that they start getting nervous," Cullen offered. "People are funny that way."

Before I could concoct something both pithy and brilliant enough to get them to concede that I really should be allowed to choose my own regalia, a young elven servant bowed her way into the room. "Your pardon, my lords and lady. The procession is ready to begin and they're requesting you take your places."

Josephine blew out her candle, set down the tablet and gave me her best _please don't embarrass me_ look. I've grown very familiar with that look. "I know you're not happy, but please don't _glare_."

"I'm not glaring." I took one more look in the mirror, trying to match my actions to my words. "I may be guilty of sulking, though."

She opened her mouth, closed it again and wheeled around, marching through the doorway. "Cullen, _you_ deal with him. I'll see you both down there."

Cullen gave me a clap on the shoulder as I joined him in a less hurried walk to the staging area. "No sulking either. I like this nonsense as little as you do, and if I'm not allowed to sulk, neither are you."

"Fine," I sighed. "But that kicking-their-asses option is looking more attractive all the time."

**###**

They stuck me on a heavily armored horse. The armor was burnished to a high golden gleam. They had, of course, included the horse-armor version of a mask, complete with long, pointy horns. My wearing black would be a provocation, but they give the horse a big, scary mask with long pointy horns. Orlais, on your most benign days you're still capable of giving me an instant headache.

Cullen and Josephine were directly behind me, riding next to each other on horses that were allowed to simply look like horses. I was mildly surprised they hadn't found matching beasts for the occasion.  

Given that that was the entirety of our "retinue", I think the amount of pomp and ceremony associated with our short ride down the main concourse to the entrance of the Winter Palace was ridiculous even for Orlais.  They must have had 200 soldiers in full dress uniform lined up along both sides. Above the concourse, the flower of Orlesian nobility had come out on beautifully appointed balconies to assess our - _ahem_ \- small but impeccably dressed procession. I stared straight ahead and tried to look dignified. Or neutral.  Perhaps even slightly above it all. Definitely not sulking.  

Behind me I could just hear Cullen and Josie. It sounded like for all his admonishing me, he wasn't as successful at the whole not-sulking exercise.

"Another parade, another _bloody_ negotiation."

"Smiles everyone." Josie's voice had taken on a brittle brightness that almost made me regret making things more difficult for her. Almost. "We must be careful how we present ourselves."

"Why did Divine Victoria call the Exalted Council," Cullen groused. "She's kept Orlais from bothering us for the last two years."

"At increasing political cost, yes. She has done all she can, but the Exalted Council has become necessary.  Orlais would control us. And based on their many marriage proposals, they have specific plans for you."

I didn't have to look behind me to know what Cullen's expression was; the fan club he'd acquired on our first visit to the Winter Palace had grown over the last few years, much to his dismay. Those chiseled good looks of his aren't always a blessing.

"Our real concern is Ferelden," Josephine continued. "They would see us disbanded entirely."

With that both of them lapsed into silence and we passed through the great gates into the Winter Palace grounds proper and another staging area out of sight of the delicate eyes of the noble guests. We dismounted and stablehands whisked the horses away as mid-level palace staff descended on us. Josie retrieved her precious portable writing tablet and was swallowed up in a gaggle of diplomatic attaches.

I lost track of Cullen as a liveried elf approached and bowed stiffly. He was to tell me where my quarters were and lead me there should I need leading. Of course, being Orlais, this wasn't as straightforward as you'd think. Cassandra, in her guise as Divine Victoria, had made it clear that I and my people would require facilities for meeting and preferably lodging somewhere outside the palace itself. As it was our organization this Council was scrutinizing, I considered it only fair that we had someplace to meet in relative privacy, This had all been arranged, along with a small outbuilding for my personal storage and wardrobe. But given I was an Important Personage, they couldn't _possibly_ allow me to sleep in such a _common_ area, so my bedchamber was in the Winter Palace itself, its location strictly dictated by my status relative to the other nobility present. I assured him I'd prefer to find everything myself and escaped before anyone else could be helpful at me.

I headed down a wide corridor I was fairly sure led to the exit I wanted and, more importantly, the privy (yes, I know, in written narratives we're all supposed to pretend no one ever has to do that. Bollocks. It happens. Quite often at the most inconvenient times possible.). Once that was taken care of, I set out in pursuit of my primary goal, which was to find my personal outbuilding and ditch the blasted jester outfit for something more comfortable. If the other noble guests found my attire objectionable, they could bloody well deal with it.

Funny thing about palaces: when they're swarming with people, it's easy to get turned around even when you think you're reasonably familiar with their layout. I turned down a short corridor I could have sworn led outside and instead found myself in the large chamber where the Exalted Council was to take place. The Anchor (that's the proper name for that blasted mark on my left hand) chose that moment to remind me it was there; a familiar, tingling almost-itch as it flared greenly at me. It had been doing that more lately and I didn't like it one bit. _What next?_ I thought sourly.

"Inquisitor."

 _Andraste's furry ass, I had to ask._ There she was, heading for me like a benign dreadnought in proper Chantry dress. Mother Giselle, saying, "It has been too long. I hope the years have been kind to you."  

"How have you been, Mother Giselle?" I tried to look politely interested.

"I spent last summer in Emprise du Lion, distributing food sent from the Exalted Plains." _Of course you did._ "The Dales are finally recovering."

I said something or other about how she travels more than I do these days.

"It keeps me out of trouble," she joked, then commented on how helpful our forces in Suledin Keep had been. I tried not to fidget. "Divine Victoria asked me to greet you on her behalf. She is currently attending to the Ferelden ambassador's concerns."

 _How did you even know I was here?_ I _didn't know I was going to wind up here._ "You can probably just call her Cassandra in private conversation," I pointed out dryly.

" _You_ can ... Inquisitor."

Ever so slight a pause before _Inquisitor_. Coupled with a look that fell somewhere between pedantic and disapproving without completely committing to either one.

" _I_ prefer to use her Divine name." She smiled.  "Our last Divine once joked about why I insisted upon calling her Justinia. She called it my way of reassuring her that I had not _completely_ forgotten who was in charge."

Several retorts flew through my mind in a matter of seconds, each one snottier than the previous.*  

* * *

* I should explain myself here, since I'm probably coming off like a bit of a twat. See, Mother Giselle is a _nice_ woman. She's a _good_ woman. She's that side of the Chantry that's… rather admirable. And there's something about her that just sets my teeth on edge.  Admittedly, I'm not a great fan of the Chantry in general, but my thing when it comes to Mother Giselle goes beyond that. Every time I'm around her I have an irrational urge to be rude. And sarcastic. And tell dick jokes. I think I do a fairly good job of hiding it, but there you have it.  


* * *

I chose to go with, "How do you think Divine Victoria has done in these last two years?"

"It is hardly for me to say, Inquisitor," she said with that Look again. It occurred to me that it was possible I have the same effect on her that she does on me.

"With respect, that's never stopped you before, Mother Giselle." _And we are both oh-so-polite…_

"Victoria says she is better suited to the battlefield than the Sunburst Throne, but she has restored the Chantry… and also people's faith in it. We are lucky to have her."

I could at least agree with her last sentiment, even though I retain my doubts about the Chantry itself. "I'll speak to Divine Victoria."

"I believe she would appreciate that, Your Worship. The Divine sees the good that you do, and have done." She smiled again. "Duke Cyril will wish to greet you on behalf of Orlais. I believe he is currently speaking with the Tevinter ambassador. Many of your friends have returned as well. I hope you have a chance to speak with them before the Exalted Council begins."

 _Did I hear that right?_ "The Imperium sent an ambassador?"

"Yes, Your Worship. Dorian Pavus has taken the chance to return from Tevinter. It will be good to see him again."

Along with a frisson of pure delight at the news the Dorian was here was that little reminder of the other source of tension between Mother Giselle and myself. I've never been able to completely forgive her for the way she ripped into him shortly after he'd joined the Inquisition and even more shortly after he and I had gotten fairly serious about our relationship.

"…I owe him an apology," she continued. "I allowed my distrust of Tevinter to cloud my judgment. I am glad you saw more clearly than I did."

There are those who would be quick to point out that what I saw clearly when it came to Dorian had precious little to do with his being from Tevinter, but fortunately they weren't present. I allowed just a touch of my surprise at her admission to show. "You're going to apologize? To Dorian?"

"I have little patience for those who cannot admit they were wrong, Your Worship. Myself included." Damned if she didn't seem serious about it. "I will have to make my apology somewhere public.  He will want an audience for his reaction." She was right about that; Dorian does love an audience.

Having to shift my thoughts about her from _dislike with a reason_ to _she's being nice again and I still feel an urge to be rude_ left me not knowing what to say, so I retreated to something safe. "Who has returned for the Exalted Council?"

"Your dwarven friend, Master Tethras, for one. I understand he spent much of the last few years in Kirkwall.  I believe Ser Blackwall has returned as well…although he now uses the name Thom Rainier." And then she had to go and ruin it all with, "Enjoy time with them while you can, Your Worship.  I doubt you will have the chance once the Exalted Council is underway."

 _Yes, thank you for reminding me that this is going to be a miserable, mind-numbing, soul-destroying days-long exercise in political wankery of the highest order._ I gave her my blandest "Thank you, Mother Giselle," hoping that was my cue to escape.  

"Your Worship, a final question, if I may."

 _Of course._ Still, at least she'd included the word "final". I raised an eyebrow; _go ahead_.

"This Exalted Council…Ferelden would have the Inquisition disband. Orlais sees its power as another feather in a chevalier's helmet. What do _you_ wish to do with the Inquisition?"

I'd been giving that a lot thought recently, and knew not all of my people were going to be happy with the conclusion I'd reached. She would be the first to hear a tentative version of it. "Corypheus is dead. We accomplished what we set out to do. If we're not needed any longer, and if it can be done peacefully, it may be time for the Inquisition to disband."

She looked mildly pleased. I knew she'd told others she thought we should disband, though her reasons undoubtedly differed from mine. "Thank you. Maker watch over you, Inquisitor. I will not keep you any longer."

She walked away, sparing me the necessity of some insipid farewell. I headed back toward the corridor, not wanting to follow her to whatever exit she was using. Mother Giselle always makes me feel like I've been measured and found wanting; the last thing I wanted was for her to think I'd gotten lost, particularly when that was precisely the case. To this day I'm still baffled how she knew where to find me.


	2. Reunions (Part 1)

It didn't take me long to re-orient myself and make my way out to the palace grounds. The elven steward's directions had been impeccable, and within a few minutes I'd made my way to my - is it considered quarters if you're not actually sleeping there? I'm going to refer to it as such.  Leliana (the Inquisition's spymaster and former Left Hand of Divine Justinia) had stationed Charter, one of her lieutenants, at the door. I'm afraid I blew past her with a barely polite nod to find my wardrobe exactly where the steward had said it would be.    

There are times when being both powerful and considered something of a rogue element orbiting outside the established power structure has its advantages, and this was one of them. I probably set some kind of record for getting out of that blasted jester outfit* and into my normal clothes. If I was going to be subjected to Politics for maker-knew-how-long, I was at least going to be comfortable, Orlesian sartorial tastes be damned. Josephine frequently accuses me of being purposefully obtuse on the subject of appropriate dress for these sorts of occasions (and she's right, though I'd never admit it to her). Leliana simply despairs at what she calls my complete lack of taste and sensibility concerning wardrobe, a sentiment Dorian echoes. My stance is they're more than welcome to carry the torch of exquisite fashion sense; I like black. 

* * *

* What did this cursed outfit look like, you might wonder? Start with the boots: Thigh-high soft leather (no so bad) the color of oatmeal (definitely bad), with lighter brown embellishments.  Over dark beige trousers. Then there's the jacket: Heavy cloth, goes down just past your arse, colored screaming, arterial red. Piping and frogging of gold brocade all over it. Oatmeal-brown leather epaulets. Same color for the gloves. A slightly lighter brown for the belt cinched around your waist, apparently just for looks, since beneath that is approximately two meters of royal blue sash that, after taking a brief journey over one's left shoulder, wraps madly about your waist (and maker help you if you wrapped it too tightly). Oh, and did I mention the high, stiff collar? Which along with being uncomfortable, has the marvelous effect of making my face look fat. Not everyone has the right bone structure for that collar.**   
** Random but associated thought: You really have no idea the sort of effort and dexterity involved in simply dressing and undressing until you lose an arm.

* * *

Now that I felt more like myself - and more like The Inquisitor as well - I had a quick look at the intel notes Leliana had left me (nothing terribly urgent) and set out to hunt down my friends before I got dragged into the slow torture of the Exalted Council. With any luck it was now late enough that they'd wait until morning to begin.

Cassandra must have had some input concerning the location of my unofficial quarters, because just a short walk from them I discovered a pleasant-looking tavern called The Gilded Horn (which I'd undoubtedly gone right past on my way _to_ my quarters, but I was preoccupied). Standing near one of the small tables along the open outer edge of the tavern was a large hat with a slender young man underneath it. Cole. I'd recognize that hat anywhere.

I headed over to greet him, but was stopped by the masked Orlesian noble sitting at the table. "Inquisitor!  I see you have time for afternoon refreshments."

_Why? Because I happened to walk past you?_

His mask was gold-tinted metal, with a large, pointy nose and even larger stylized mustache. He'd completed the ensemble with a round, silver helmet topped by a curly red feather. The Orlesian nobility's obsession with masks is easily one of my least favorite things about the place.  

Before I could start making excuses, Cole leaned over the man's shoulder and said, "Did you know that a merchant in the courtyard is selling gemstones the same color as your eyes?"

Said eyes blinked and visibly widened behind the silly mask. "What an odd thing to say. Hm. I must see this for myself." He stood up and strode away without so much as a by-your-leave.  

"You're useful to have around, Cole," I said gratefully.

"I still don't understand Orlesians and their masks, but it makes him happy," he replied. "And I needed the table."

I followed his gaze. "For...bread crumbs?" 

"Birds _like_ bread crumbs." As if to demonstrate his point, a raven landed on the table and started pecking at the small pile there. Mission accomplished, I suppose, Cole turned from the table and walked…not exactly towards me, but in my general direction. 

_So much for enthusiastic reunions._

I saw the object of his attention was the bard, Maryden, a pretty brunette who actually had a modicum of talent. She'd been sitting on a bench out front; I was merely midpoint along his trajectory.

She stood as he approached her. "Oh, Cole! Good day. I didn't see you there."

"But I saw you. As lovely as your songs." He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

 _Kissed her?! Now that's new._ "So-  You-," I sputtered eloquently, finishing with a lame, "Hunh."

I could swear Cole looked faintly amused as Maryden smiled at me. "The world has ample pain, Inquisitor," she said. "The kindness found in Cole is rare indeed."

"Her songs bring happiness to those who hear," Cole added. "And I can make her happy in return."

"Well then."  I searched for something else to say that wouldn't make me sound more idiotic. "Carry on," and fled toward the safety of the tavern. Happily, I'm not sure they'd noticed I'd left. 

If my reaction seems odd, understand that Cole isn’t a typical young man. He actually began his existence here as a spirit of Compassion, drawn out of the Fade by the suffering of the real Cole, who sadly died of starvation and thirst in a Templar dungeon, seized for the ‘crime’ of being a mage and then forgotten. The spirit for all intents and purposes _became_ Cole, and over the years he’s put a great deal of effort into becoming more human. I simply had no idea he’d progressed so…far. Once the initial surprise wore off, it’s really rather charming.

Having decided that at this point I deserved a drink, I entered the tavern. I'd (naturally) come in the side completely opposite the bar itself, so would have to weave my way through half the tavern to get there. At the end of the long, central table I spotted someone who made me veer off course even before fetching a beer for myself. She saw me at the same time and jumped up to greet me (unsurprisingly, she'd been sitting _on_ the table rather than _at_ it).

"Here's you. And everyone. Glad to be back, all stuffed together. With the pressure full-on. Again." She grinned. 

Sera. No surname she'll admit to. A tall, _non-elfy_ elf with blonde hair that looks like it's been cut using a knife because it has. Long-time member of the Friends of Red Jenny (which is a…resistance group, I suppose you could say, though aside from a definite agenda for supporting those exploited by the nobility, what and how the Jennys resist is a varied tapestry). Also a phenomenal archer. She's loud, crude, frenetic and I utterly adore her.

"Don't worry, 'Herald of Everywhere'," she continued. "I came prepared. I know what everyone needs."  

I was pretty sure I knew what she meant, but of course I had to see what form it would take. I gestured _after you_.

"Just like best times," she promised. 

It didn't take her long to spot her quarry - one of the masked Orlesian fops that infest the palace like a bevy of garishly clad rodents. She pulled a round, white ball out of the pouch she was carrying and, with that deadly accurate aim of hers, flung it point blank into his face, where it exploded into an impressive blossom of gooey, white fluff. Several more of the Winter Palace's finest fell victim in quick succession, with me playing distraction as Sera flung goo-bombs. I was tempted to fire a few myself, but she's far more precise (hey, I'm a mage; I don't have to be quite as good at pinpoint aiming), and as long as no one saw me throwing anything, I could plead ignorance as to what the mad elf girl was up to. 

Once I saw she was at the end of her supply, however, I did fire the goo-bomb I'd palmed earlier with gratifying accuracy into _her_ face. And of course she had one in reserve that she retaliated with. Turns out the stuff washes off easily, though it leaves you smelling vaguely of elderberries and furniture polish.

Was it juvenile? Absolutely. Was it inappropriate for someone in my vaunted position to participate? Undoubtedly. Was it worth it? Maker, yes. Sera firmly believes that her Pranks are a brilliant way to take high-born egos and high-ranking officials down a peg or two. I don't know that they always have the effect she's aiming for ( _ha ha - get it? Aiming?_ ), but I do enjoy stepping away from all the _Your Worship_ -ing and, yes, acting juvenile and undisciplined for a few moments.

We cleaned up and returned to the tavern; I decided I'd earned at least two drinks. Maybe more. We acquired our first and Sera led the way to one of the small round patio tables.  

"I expected a roof," I joked. We'd spent a lot of time on the roof outside Sera's room in Skyhold*. It has a nice view and people don't tend to look for you there. 

* * *

* The Inquisition's headquarters. It's a vast castle high up in the Frostback Mountains, thus the name.

* * *

"It's early," she shrugged. "Anyway - that was a good run. It's all been a good run. I needed that. And I need… You know it's ending, right? We can say it won't, but nobs in places like this- all they _do_ is end things."  She frowned. "They'll try a leash. Or worse. But maybe you aren't ready to quit just because some Lord Piddlebits is scared of us," and her smile returned.  

I swallowed some of my ale. Typically bland. Orlesians love their wine, but they've never quite gotten the hang of a good beer. "Is someone moving against us?" 

Sera hears things that the rest of us don't at times.

She laughed. "Sure. Start with _every_ one _every_ where. Point is, sooner or _sooner_ , all this changes. And you've helped me understand…too much. So it's my turn to help you."

As if they'd been waiting for their cue - and they probably had - a couple of people approached the table. _Help me? This is getting…interesting._

"See, I had these friends," she continued. "And all of them were the wrong sort of whatever. Their place changed, or it never was."

One after another, people were tossing palm-sized medallions on the table then walking away. I took them to be a Red Jenny thing, as the centers were some sort of raised red sigil on a gold base. I'm observant that way.

"So together, we made an Us."  She nodded thanks to the latest Jenny and leaned forward, eyes wide and earnest. "Everyone needs an us. And when the world is done saying no and calls you the wrong sort of whatever, maybe we can be that us for _you_." She grinned brightly. "What do you think, Inquisitor? Want to run some rooftops as a Jenny?"

The blonde Jenny who'd just dropped her medallion on the table crouched down next to Sera and studied me. She didn't seem terribly impressed.

"You want the Inquisitor?" _In other words, this was a formal invitation? If it had been a friendly suggestion she would have called me by name or one of her nicknames for me._ "Don't I have a few more titles than your usual Jenny?" I looked over at the blonde girl. "No offense."

" _Some_ taken," she fired back.

"Pfft. Words," Sera said dismissively and looked me in the eyes. "Look, we don't want you; we want to be there _for_ you. If you want to keep _doing_ , it won't be nobles who help, it'll be _friends_."

I suppose I should have told her I'd think about it, or I couldn't commit under the circumstances, but that would have been a lie and I don't like to lie to Sera. I'd already been leaning heavily toward disbanding the Inquisition, and she'd just handed me the answer to _what the fuck would I do next_ on a silver platter. "Well, all I have to say is…" I grinned back at her, "call me Red frigging Jenny."

"Way too confusing," the blonde girl opined. "You'll get a city. One that rhymes with 'arse'."

" _OH!_ " Sera gasped. "I should've said we needed a _we_   instead of an us. Because-" she giggled, "Wait!  ANUS!"  She laughed wildly, then tapered off. "So stupid."

I chuckled and raised my mug to them both. "To all my friends."

"Always and ever, Inquisitor," Sera smiled back. "Always and ever."

One beer somehow turned into four _five?_ and a move to a larger table as I became acquainted with some of my new Friends. They were as varied a lot as my inner circle in the Inquisition, and every one of them started out wary of me despite Sera’s ringing endorsement. In the background Maryden kept playing pieces from her seemingly inexhaustible supply of songs about the Inquisition and the events of two years past. Little wonder they were leery of me with those constant reminders of my…Inquisitorness.

No matter; everyone’s attitude had thawed after a few drinks and I felt more relaxed than I had…well, since Dorian departed for Tevinter, I suppose. Having drained the last of my latest beer, I must have said something stupid, because Sera suddenly grinned widely at me and sing-songed, “Kai’s getting dru-unk.”

I mock-glowered at her and intoned loftily, “Inquisitors don’t get drunk. They get-“ _blank. I suddenly had no idea where I was going with that._

Sera poked me in the ribs, a look of wild glee in her eyes. “RIFT-FACED!” She dissolved into shrieks of laughter.

I stood up. “Right.  If you’re going to be that way about it, I should go.  I have Inquisitor things to do.” _For one thing, I desperately needed to piss._ Just to ensure she knew I wasn’t actually angry, I stuck my tongue out at her before turning to exit. She thumbed her nose back at me, grinning widely.

As I pushed the door open, behind me I heard Maryden start that silly song she sings about Sera…and just as abruptly stop with a thud and a jangle of strings signaling the demise of one lute. “Creepy song is creepy,” Sera announced, punctuating her statement with a heartfelt “Brruh.”

I chuckled to myself. She’d been threatening to do that for years. Guess I wasn’t the only one who was a little drunk. 

**###**

I really did have things I needed to do; should already have been doing. One of the notes left in my quarters had said that another old friend, Blackwall, wanted to see me. I should have been there about two drinks ago. _Well, it's not every day I become a Red Jenny_ I rationalized. Fortunately the place we were to meet was only a short walk from the tavern. He was facing away as I approached, chucking throwing knives at a heavy straw target, but something must have tipped him off it was me behind him.

"Fashionably late," he said as he turned around. "I thought you weren't gonna show."

"I'm late, and you decide to make the Winter Palace rubble." Yes, I was exaggerating. The four (or was it five?) beers I'd had had nothing to do with it.

Blackwall played along, "Eh, never liked it anyway. Too fancy. So - tell me everything that happened while I was away."

We sat down on a nearby stone bench and I gave him the abridged version of what all had led up to this blasted council being convened. Then he told me what he'd been up to on his self-imposed journey of atonement.* 

* * *

* His full story is also available elsewhere, but briefly - Blackwall, real name Thom Rainier, used to be a commander in the Orlesian army. He'd done well until, due in part to political ambition and mostly to pure greed, he'd betrayed and lied to his men, leading them into committing an atrocity, and rather than own up to it, he'd fled, leaving his men to pay the price. While on the run, he'd been recruited by a Grey Warden named Blackwall, who'd inconsiderately gotten himself killed by Darkspawn before they'd made it to his initiation. Rainier had taken Blackwall's identity and lived as the man for years. Only a few years ago, while he was with us, did he finally own up to what he'd done and who he was. I'd given him a chance to redeem himself - because as Blackwall he'd been nothing but honorable - and after Corypheus was vanquished he'd set about doing that in earnest  Lately he'd gone off to find as many of his old unit as he could to try and put things right with them.

* * *

"…and after the betrayal, and what I'd put those men through, my sorries were worth about as much as shit." He stared straight ahead, eyes haunted.

"How many people hit you?" I asked, both because I was curious and I knew it was the sort of question he'd like.

He blew a puff of air. "I lost count at twelve. But I could take a punch. They needed to know that there's a way to come back from anything. And I wanted to help them if I could. I thought going up there on the gallows was difficult. This was worse… a hundred times worse. Anyway. It's nice to be back, though I'm not sure what to think of this Council." He jumped up from the bench. I stood as well, taking it as a signal that he was ending the conversation. "No matter what, you know you can always count on my sword arm. And my friendship." 

He fired another knife at the straw target, presumably as punctuation. It thunked into the outermost ring and hung there precariously.

I gaped at him, pretending shock. "Your aim is atrocious. I'm embarrassed for you."

"Think you can do better?" he growled. "Be my guest."

Half a dozen knives later I couldn't quite wipe the grin off my face. I'd acquitted myself better than I'd dared to hope. No bulls-eyes, but every one of them had hit close to the centre and stuck in true.

Blackwall (I suppose I should get used to calling him Rainier) regarded me gravely, but his eyes were sparkling.  "Well. Looks like you've found a backup solution if that council of yours gets deadlocked."

"Believe me, it's tempting," I laughed. "I'll catch up with you again in a bit. I'm still supposed to pay my respects to the Ferelden and Orlesian ambassadors. I'm sure they already think I'm unspeakably ill-mannered."

"Fuck 'em. I'll be here if you need me." Blackwall waved me on and turned his attention to doing some sort of maintenance to his sword.

**###**

I really did need to meet the ambassadors, even briefly. If I didn't, poor Josephine would probably expire from sheer embarrassment. They were holding court on the opposite side of the palace grounds, so I headed in that direction with a quick stop at the tavern, this time just to down a glass of water and a bun with some sliced cheese on it. Wouldn't do to meet the ambassadors smelling like a brewery.

I made it halfway across the spacious main plaza when I heard a familiar voice coming from the other side of the large, ornate fountain that was the centerpiece of the place. "All right, what else?"

I followed the fountain around and saw a man with floppy brown hair talking to my 'dwarven friend', Varric Tethras. "The prince of Starkhaven wrote to you again."

"Of course he did," Varric didn't sound impressed. "Just…put that one in the pile, with letters from the merchant's guild."

"And the captain of the City Guard had a very…colorful message for me to deliver to you as well." He saw that Varric's attention had wandered and turned as I approached them. I noticed he was wearing a pair of fawn-colored leather gloves that made him look like he was planning on doing a bit of gardening soon. Odd.

Varric's craggy face lit up with a smile. "Inquisitor!  Andraste's ass, am I ever glad to see you!"

"And The Inquisitor comes to the rescue once again," I quipped.

"Is that what you call it?" Varric's friend's voice practically dripped vitriol.

"Uh, this is Bran Cavin. Until recently he was the Viscount of-"

" _Provisional_ Viscount," Cavin corrected.

"- of Kirkwall," Varric continued.  

Was Varric making _This Shit is Weird_ his paradigm for life now? "So why's he here with messages from the merchant's guild?" I asked.

"I have resumed my post as seneschal now that Master Tethras has been elected Viscount," Cavin sniffed. He may look like some noble's nephew shoved into the job to get him out of the way, but the man speaks pure bureaucrat. He's got that vaguely snotty tone they favor down pat.

However, all that paled in importance beside, "You're the Viscount of Kirkwall now?"

Before Varric could get a word in, Cavin intercepted. "Well, it seems the two of you have a great deal to discuss. Why don't I just leave you to it." He faded back from us in that way professional functionaries have.

"So," Varric said, "It turns out you fund enough reconstruction in a city-state, the nobles give you the worst job they can think of."

"That's fantastic. You'll make an excellent Viscount." I meant it. I'd trust Varric sooner than virtually any politician I've ever met.

"I think the nobility figured, after Dumar and Perrin, _what’s the worst that could happen if we put the dwarf in charge?_ They voted me in because I got the harbor and businesses up and running again."

Typical Varric - he said it as though he'd merely done a minor bit of scutwork rather than the major accomplishment it really was.

He smiled. "They want shit fixed and I can do that. Anyway, I was hoping I'd catch you before the Summit got underway. I got you a sort of…present. It's official recognition of your titles and holdings in Kirkwall.  Congratulations. You're a comte now."

A comte? Varric was just full of surprises today. Before I could say anything, Cavin came rushing over (proving his discreet distancing didn't go so far as taking himself out of earshot). "You can't actually do that without t-"

"Too late," Varric cut him off, throwing his arms up in mock helplessness. "Already did it." He pointedly turned his attention back to me. "You should stop by Hightown sometime to see your estate. It's pretty nice, for Kirkwall anyway."

Cavin tried again. "Proper dispensation of empty estates is supposed to-"

"You were leaving us to talk, remember?" Cavin sighed and slunk away. If there is a spirit of Disapproval, it would look like he did at that moment.

I was still trying to wrap my mind around this sudden outpouring of generosity from Varric. I really couldn't see that I'd done anything to deserve something of that magnitude. "What are you up to? I feel like I should be suspicious."

"Look, it's really not that big a deal," he replied. "Oh! That reminds me-" 

He handed me something. A key. A very large key.

"It's the key to the city," he explained.

And here came Cavin like a shot. "You can't give that away without approval from the Council and a special ceremony. It-"

"It's just symbolic anyway." Varric shrugged. 

Cavin looked pained. "It _controls_ one of the giant chain nets in the harbor."

"Really? That is-" Varric chuckled, "so much better than I thought."

I've seen those chain nets and they really are massive. And if my new key… "This operates those giant chains? Can I try it?"

" _No,_ " Cavin snapped peevishly. Spoilsport.

Varric ignored him and said to me, "I don't know how this council thing is going to end for the Inquisition, but whatever gets decided, you've got a place lined up in Kirkwall if you want it. Also - um - control of the Harbor, I guess…" 

Or at least one really big chain net.

"Anyway, you should meet with the diplomats. And we'll get in a game of Wicked Grace before I go back, though, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it," I assured him. 

"Don't bet any public buildings this time." Cavin gave Varric a long-suffering look and returned to his waiting-for-the-next-outrage spot.

"Varric, this really seems like- you didn't need to-"

He waved off my attempt to thank him. "Like I said, not a big deal. Besides, for a city its size, Kirkwall is sadly lacking in good Wicked Grace players. Now go," he made shooing motions at me. "Talk to the nice diplomats before they decide you're trying to avoid them."

I rolled my eyes. "Perish the thought. See you later, Varric. And thank you."

He snorted as he walked away, but he looked pleased.

**###**

The grounds of the Winter Palace are exquisitely landscaped, with cobbled pathways punctuated by immaculate lawns, flowers, shrubberies and fountains. There are benches for quiet conversations, cunningly arranged areas for small gatherings, balconies overlooking stunning views, trellises of white fronting walls of soothing blue, and the denizens of the palace drift along the paths and plazas like flocklets of pampered peacocks. Well, if peacocks were vicious, duplicitous predators of the highest order.

What you don't expect to see in such rarefied surroundings is a heavily muscular dog the size of a pony dashing across the plaza and flinging itself at the feet of its owner, which is exactly what happened as I climbed a short set of stairs, still making my way toward the diplomats.

I also recognized the owner: Cullen, still dressed in his formal outfit from that morning, down on his knees so he could talk to his new friend face to face. As I approached, he was admonishing the dog, "You, there. You're to dodge, not catch. If that ball were a fireball, you'd be dead."

The dog barked once, as if it understood. For all I know, it did. It wasn't just an ordinary dog, it was a Mabari hound, and if half the stories about them are true, the beast knew exactly what he was saying. How Cullen got his hands on a Ferelden Mabari I couldn't imagine.

"You…found a dog," I said by way of greeting.

"They don't breed Mabari in Orlais. The merchant said he was abandoned. Perhaps his owners tired of the novelty," Cullen said. 

"And you're training him to dodge fireballs because..?"

"He'll be prepared should something happen. Not that something will, or that it will involve fire. Another Ferelden trapped at the Winter Palace. I couldn't leave him to that fate. Besides," Cullen chuckled, "I think he likes me."

"Something tells me you've never had a dog before."

"Not since I was a child," he corrected with a smile. "The Circle wasn't keen on pets — especially in Kirkwall. But Skyhold…"

"Yeah, not big pet fans, Circles. Ostwick wasn't either. You could take him to Ferelden sometime. He should know where he came from," I suggested. If I went through with disbanding the Inquisition, he'd certainly have the opportunity. 

Cullen grinned. "I did promise my sister a visit," and said to the dog, "She might try to spoil you. Heh. Remember who you report to."

The dog barked - I assume affirmatively.

"The Inquisition will change after this," Cullen said thoughtfully. "I'm not yet sure what that will mean." He shook his head and knelt forward to rub the dog's tummy, as it was squirming about on its back making it clear that was expected. "Whatever happens, our people - you, Leliana, Josephine - will have my support." He stood and the dog sat up attentively. "In whatever form you require."

I decided to keep it light, "If your support comes with that of your new friend, I'm sold." I looked the dog in the eyes. "I know a useful ally when I see one."

The dog barked several times, presumably agreeing. Or perhaps commenting on the relative virtues of bacon vs. sausage.

"You can help," Cullen showed the animal his ball. "Dodge this and I'll find overpriced Orlesian dog treats before we go." 

I left them to it. I already probably smelled faintly of beer; I didn't need to add dog to the mix.

I climbed another short flight of steps, the balcony where I'd been told I could find the diplomats finally in view. Lovely. But coming from the right to intercept me was Leliana, saying, "Will you walk with me?"

Rule number one of running a large organization - never blow off your spymaster.  I fell in beside her.  She led me to a private balcony overlooking the Winter Palace. It was impressive from that angle - all cool blues and whites offsetting gold embellishments, Orlesian lions prominent among them, enhanced by green plants and hedgerows.

"The first time I came to the Winter Palace, I was only eighteen," she mused. "I was dazzled.  Such rich hangings.  Splendid marble columns. More golden lions than I could count. It's all still here, still bright. But I no longer see that same palace."

"Everything changes," I agreed. "People most of all."

"Yes," she said sadly. "Now all I can see are the knives in the shadows. The poison in jeweled goblets."  She looked at a gathering of nobles on a nearby balcony. "They seek to tear the Inquisition down. You feel it, no? Fear."

"I'd fear anyone with our vault of secrets." I turned my gaze from the idiots on the balcony to her. "Wouldn't you?"

"It is not our secrets, nor our soldiers. There have always been spymasters and private armies."  She looked away again. "They are afraid of nothing so much as the hand that directs it all."

"Mine." I finished.

She nodded once. "Already your actions have begun to reshape Thedas. Your influence is felt everywhere. It was only a matter of time before they moved. I'm surprised it took this long." She paused. "It may be time to end things."

If she'd expected me to object...

"The Inquisition has done enough," I agreed. "More than enough. Maybe it's time for us to lay down our swords and go home."

"We set out to restore peace and now peace is upon us. But I know from experience how hard it can be to lay down your blade and accept that things have changed. We can still work for the good of Thedas without the Inquisition, but the time for soldiers and spies has passed. You have suffered _terrible_ things, Inquisitor. I hope you still see the light ahead of us."

I nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the personal turn she'd taken.

"The world is ready to move past the horror of the breach and Corypheus," she continued. "And so should we. But whatever you decide, I will be honoured to stand beside you."

"Thank you, Leliana. The honour is mine," I said sincerely. "But when the Inquisition does disband, there's one thing I'll need you to do for me,"

"Anything," she replied. "What is it?" 

I grinned. "No more Inquisitor. My _name_ is Kai. You have to promise."

“Is that all?” she gave me a crooked smile. "Of course I promise," 

“ _Thank_ you, m’lady.” I gave her an exaggerated bow. “And now I must away; diplomacy rears its ugly head.”

“Go, _Inquisitor_ ,” she laughed. “Josie’s probably beside herself by now.”

**###**

I finally made it up the last flight of stairs to diplomat territory. The first person I spotted was Cassandra, in full Divine garb, talking to a man wearing a brown tunic with ridiculous brown leather shoulder guards, a red and yellow sash and matching red and yellow hat.  But no mask, so he had to be one of the foreign envoys. If she felt anything like I did, she could probably use some rescuing.

“Divine Victoria,” I greeted her as I approached, “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” she nodded regally. “The Arl of Redcliffe was telling me of events in Denerim. He represents Ferelden at the summit."

“Inquisitor.  Good to meet you,” the Arl said.  He was a lean man with a few days growth of beard that, unlike the carefully cultivated Orlesian model sported by the daring few who occasionally went maskless, looked like it had simply been allowed to grow. 

“How are things in Redcliffe, my Lord?” I asked politely.

“Blessedly quiet,” the Arl replied. “The mayor conveys his greetings; Redcliffe remembers its savior.”

“I had hoped to steal a moment of the Divine’s time,” I said. 

“Very well. We’ll continue this later, your… Perfection,” he said to Cassandra and walked away.

Cass eyed him sourly. “I am supposed to be impartial while speaking for the Chantry, but I confess that neutrality is beyond me. I may be the Divine, but I will always be your friend, and I can hardly ignore the fate of the Inquisition that I began.”

“When world powers want to discuss plans for the future, I get nervous,” I admitted to her. 

“I share your concern. The Inquisition is still needed. Some delegates do not yet understand that,” she said.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I pretty much shared those delegates’ sentiment. Not after all she’d been doing for me and for us the last few years.

“I must attend to other matters,” she continued tiredly.  “If you need me, I am ready to assist. Unconditionally.”

I essayed a short bow, as was the right and proper manner to bid farewell to the Divine.

“I’m glad you finally arrived, Inquisitor.” The Arl wasted no time in picking up where he’d left off. “The Crown’s anxious for news.”

“And your thoughts on Ferelden’s position?” I prompted.

“The breach is long gone, yet Skyhold’s army remains,” he said testily. “Ferelden can’t continue to ignore soldiers on its borders.”

"The Inquisition _has_ grown. I can see how its presence might cause concern," I allowed.

"Then you understand why we must demand a reduction of your military forces. A power without allegiance to either Ferelden or Orlais? Even I see neither of our countries can let it rest."

 _Lovely. I had days of this to look forward to._ “I appreciate knowing where Ferelden stands,” I replied.

“You are owed that, Inquisitor. Especially here. These Orlesians will talk circles around you before you get a simple greeting out.”

Which may explain why he sounded peevish. If that was the case rather than any hostility toward us, I certainly couldn’t blame him. 

“I won’t keep you longer,” he continued. “We’ll have words enough when the Exalted Council begins.”

And off he went.  _One down with promises of words to come…now to speak with dear Cyril._

It turned out the fellow Cole had chased off that morning was none other than the Orlesian ambassador; one of the Jennys had told me who he was. I’d noticed him a short distance away, that silly mask and plumed helmet being difficult to miss. He was standing in front of a large golden lion flanked by two throne-like chairs. What I hadn’t noticed was he was talking to Dorian.

“Orlais is on your side, Lord Pavus,” Cyril was saying. “The Inquisition’s support is not a thing to lose lightly.”

“Which is why the Orlesian court is circling it with a net and collar?” Dorian said pointedly (no, I didn’t actually hear this; Dorian told me later that’s what they were talking about). Then he saw me and excused himself; Cyril wasn’t going anywhere.

“Amatus,” he approached me smiling. “Wading through all the pomp and circumstance, I see.”

I looked at him sternly. “You’re back after being away in Tevinter for a month and this is how you greet me?”

“I have an apology ready.” He embraced me and apologized very satisfactorily. Damn, but the man can kiss.

Unfortunately, this was not the time to explore that line of thought further, so when we broke our embrace, rather than exiting stage left to demand further apologies, I asked, “What have you learned about this council?”

“Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, the Chantry meddles, and Tevinter sends but one ambassador.  Uh, that’s me, by the way. A reward for my interest in the South,” he said, his tone lightly sarcastic.  

People think Dorian doesn’t take things seriously because he’s clever and speaks as though everything is worthy of ridicule. Truth is, beneath the witty repartee, he cares very deeply. Probably more so than I about many things. Besides, he’s correct: most things _are_ worthy of ridicule.

“Thankfully, Ambassador Pavus is a token appointment,” he added. “Call on me as you like.” He gave me an arch look and ambled away as Cyril pounced.

“Inquisitor. Duke Cyril de Montfort, member of the Council of Heralds and lord of Chateau Haine. I have long followed your work. It is extraordinary.”

“Is that sentiment shared by the rest of the court?” I asked blandly.

Cyril laughed, despite nothing being funny. “Of course.” His tone turned treacly. “Orlais wishes only to offer respectful guidance to the Inquisition.”

 _Yeah. Right. And the Qunari just want to trade recipes with us._ “The Inquisition’s grown. It would be shocking if they didn’t find us a threat,” I observed. It seemed to be my go-to line with the ambassadors today.

“Yet, you’ve started no major wars. The Inquisition is a very considerate rival,” Cyril quipped, then switched to Solemn Mode. “I have not forgotten Justinia’s death. I had friends who perished at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. More than the good you have done, it is the good we may do _together_ that I don’t wish to lose. What ever happens, Inquisitor, I wish you well.” And speech concluded, he took his leave.

 _You may wish me well, Cyril, but if you think I trust a word you said, you’re a bigger fool than you take me for._ At least the introductions were over with.

Before I hunted down Dorian – and hopefully some dinner – I figured I’d better check in with Josephine. She often despairs of my disdain for things political, so I wanted her to know I’d done my Inquisitorial duty.

It took a bit of searching, but I found her on a balcony overlooking the section of palace grounds where our people were quartered. She too was still wearing the Inquisition’s formal jester’s outfit from that morning, though on her it at least looked good. She looked me up and down with slightly narrowed eyes as I approached, but clearly decided not to launch into that debate again. Instead she went back to studying the notes on her ever-present tablet. “It’s been quite a day so far, has it not? I’ve been speaking with representatives from everywhere.”

“Have they given you trouble?” I asked.

“Not at all,” she looked up at me briefly. “It is quite alarming. It means they are all saving themselves up for later.” She paused, then said, “Would you walk with me? I should like to take some air before the Exalted Council becomes inescapable.”

She led me to one of the more gardeny areas of the grounds. I was fairly sure I recognized them from that first time we’d come to the Winter Palace. Of course, it was dark then, and we were fighting Venatori whilst chasing after some wretch in a Harlequin outfit in order to stop an assassination attempt on Empress Celine, so I may be mistaken. I was studying the area, trying to match my memory of it to the benign daytime version, and I’m afraid I missed some of what Josie was going on about.

“…The Palace has been most accommodating. We are, after all, here at their insistence, but the ministers may- No.” She stopped, a frown crossing her face. “No more talk of the Council.”

I gave a purely mental cheer. If I never heard about the Council again it would be too soon. And Maker help us, the damned thing hadn’t even started yet.

Josie smiled at me. “This meeting was to spend time with you in a more relaxed fashion.”

Amused, I said, “Is this in your daily notes? ‘Three to four o’clock, idle chat with the Inquisitor’?”

“Of course not!” she protested, then paused. “Ahem. Not…precisely.” She took a breath, gearing up for whatever it was she’d been wanting to say. “The truth is, there is a small entertainment happening tonight, to which I… _may_ be able to find a pair of invitations.”

“You’d like me to go with you?” 

“Very much so,” she smiled hopefully. “In all the years you’ve worked with Orlais, you’ve had so little time to enjoy its culture.”

“I do wish you’d warned me the Game would take more work _after_ Halamshiral,” I said by way of an excuse. Truth be told, I’m not all that keen on immersing myself in a great deal of Orlesian culture. I find it rather exhausting on a good day, and too much of their precious Game gets me fantasizing about living out one of those Mad-Mage-Goes-on-a-Killing-Spree stories the anti-mage types so love to tell.

Josie laughed. “It’s strange. Those were somehow…simpler times. With all that’s been happening, I promised myself a single evening out. I’d very much like to go with a friend.”

“And what is this small entertainment,” I asked.

“Something to ease our minds. I would very much like to surprise you with the details.”

 _Oh dear…_ “Why not? Josephine, I put myself in your capable hands.” 

“Splendid! I will arrange things at once.” She regarded me warmly. “The past years have been so busy. We have earned at least a few moments of rest.”

I promised to meet her in a few hours. While she went off to arrange our mysterious evening of Orlesian culture, I had a few errands of my own. Fortunately it was far too late for them to consider starting the Council now, so that was one worry I could postpone. First I ventured far enough into the palace to get a servant to take me to the seneschal, and arranged for my meal to be sent to my quarters (the ones on the grounds, not my in-palace bedchamber). Attending an entertainment later proved to be the perfect excuse, as she barely blinked at the request. 

Next I wandered a bit until I spotted Dorian, who was lurking near a hedgerow looking positively gleeful. As I approached, he made shushing motions at me, so I quietly joined him. “What’s going on,” I whispered.

He pointed to a small balcony on the other side of the hedgerow where two masked women were in some sort of heated discussion. “This is priceless,” he whispered back. “The one in the butterfly mask just noticed the one in the harlequin mask is wearing _the same shoes._ The creative vitriol is already at a level most Magisters back home can only _dream_ of. If Corypheus had just shown up at the Winter Palace in the same outfit as one of them, we wouldn’t have had to go to all that trouble.,” 

He was right. The barbs of honey-coated rage they were throwing at each other would have destroyed many lesser creatures. I filed a few of them away in memory for future reference, and I know Dorian was doing the same. 

We listened until the fight wound down into withering glares and elaborately dignified exits, then sat on a nearby bench. I told him about my mystery entertainment with Josie, he told me how he’d been roped into agreeing to a late meal with the Nevarran ambassador’s party, and we agreed to meet at his quarters later. There was no way I was _not_ going to finish the night with him. Not that he’d suggested anything different.


	3. A Night at the Opera / A Long-Overdue Reunion

So we went to Josie’s mysterious entertainment. It turned out to be…a play, sort of. Probably. Possibly an opera. Or some sort of formalized Orlesian shouting match. I can definitely say it involved masks. Lots and lots of masks. And dashing back and forth while declaiming things dramatically or bursting into song. And at one point, a rather confused-looking stoat. I’d pretty much given up on trying to follow whatever storyline may have existed by the end of the first…act?

As the final curtain closed, Josie, on the other hand, was clapping enthusiastically, shouting, “Bravo, oh bravo!” I felt more kinship with the stoat.  She looked over at me, eyes shining.

“Was the woman in gold playing the king?” I asked. “Who was the man in feathers?”

“Oh, it’s all very simple,” she chirped. “The first actor’s mask is determined by…oh.” I guess my complete lack of comprehension was evident. “Well, I will lend you the program guide. But tell me,” she continued eagerly, “did you enjoy the performance?”

 _Well…_ “What I really enjoyed was seeing you put your duties aside for a change.” It wasn’t precisely what she’d asked, but it was the truth. 

“I truly did.” The smile on her face made it all worth it. “Thank you for coming. It’s been too long since I spent an evening just doing…nothing.”

“Here’s to nothing,” I replied sincerely. “May it happen to us more often in the future.”

Down by the stage, a whistling preceded a purplescent explosion, followed by a pinkish one. “Oh look! The encore signal!”

I wondered if they’d launch the man in feathers at us. After what I’d already seen, I wouldn’t put anything past them. 

**###**

It was still reasonably early when we made it back to the palace. I bid Josephine good night, assuring her once again that I really did have a good time, and set out for Dorian’s quarters.

At my knock, he answered the door himself. “I sent the servants away and threw a few wards up,” he said after we kissed hello. “We’ll undoubtedly still be spied upon to the best of their abilities, but it _does_ inconvenience them.”

“Good.” I pulled my jacket off and tossed it on a nearby chair, then sat down to begin the task of unlacing my boots. “I don’t want to see one more person tonight, let alone talk to them.”

He dropped bonelessly onto the couch across from me, somehow managing to look both comfortable _and_ perfectly posed, and picked up the glass of wine he’d been drinking when I knocked. “Want some?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You know I don’t care for wine.”  I yanked the left boot off and started on the right.

He sighed mournfully. “I know, but I feel the need to at least keep _offering_ you some refinement.” He reached down beside the couch into a container I hadn't noticed and handed me a bottle of beer. _Ostwick_ beer, to my surprise. “Between this and your insistence on a monochrome wardrobe…are you quite sure you’re not Fereldan?”

“I fail to see how a preference for fermented grapes bestows refinement.” I stopped attacking my laces long enough to try a swallow. “Mm.  Wonderful. Thank you.”

“We ambassadors are given special dispensation to insist on items of food and drink from the native lands of ourselves and other visiting dignitaries,” he said grandly. “Even beer from Ostwick. It’s a perk you really should try before you leave.”

“If they give me a moment to breathe, I might. Andraste’s _tits_.” The last was directed at my boot, which had been resisting my efforts to pull it off until that moment. Naturally, when it gave in it pulled half my sock along with it. “And I resent that crack about my wardrobe. Fereldens wear copious amounts of brown, not black.”

“I’ve always thought it was because it blends better with dog hair. But I _will_ concede that point.” He eyed my right sock, a good three inches of which were dangling sadly off the end of my foot. “Are you going to take that off or leave it on? The suspense is killing me.”

“I haven’t decided. Maybe I’ll just leave it this way to subtly torture you.”

“Beast.” He poured himself a little more wine as I yanked the sock up. “So where did you go on your date with our Josie?”

I told him about the…whatever it was, which amused him no end. “How was your dinner with – who was it – the Nevarran ambassador?”

“Oh, delightful,” he drawled. “Her husband seemed all right, in a fade-into-the-woodwork sort of way. She, on the other hand…” he shuddered dramatically. “She considers herself a _wit_. Kept attempting to engage me in sparkling _repartee_ and _bon mots_. I gather someone told her I’m quite clever that way, so she saw it as her opportunity to finally shine with a conversational equal.”

“It was that bad?”

“Worse, She tried to get us all to play word games.”

I waggled my empty bottle at him and he handed me another. “Word games.”

“Yes, you know, games like ‘make a sentence using the word “horticulture” ’.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yes.” He rolled his eyes. “Her crowning achievement was a comic poem rhyming magistrate with masturbate. She thought she was being quite naughty. You would have been proud of me; I didn’t even flinch.”

"Why would- wait…" I thought that one through. “Let me guess – she was referring to Tevinter magi _sters_?”

“Tragically correct,” Dorian sighed.

"Maybe she couldn't think of a rhyme for that."

He gave me a stern glare. "My dear man, one could almost imagine you're sticking up for her."

"Consider what I just finished watching. My sensibilities are deadened. Bad poetry would have been a welcome break."

" _One_ bad poem can be amusing. When added to the entirety of that woman's repertoire, it metamorphoses into one tendril of a suffocating miasma of excruciating banality," Dorian intoned darkly. "I daresay your theatre experience was at least not banal." 

"True," I raised my bottle to him, "I salute you for surviving the evening with mind and soul mostly intact."

"Mostly," he echoed, then suddenly grinned. “Still, there was one perfectly marvelous moment. You see, she’d been working her way through one particular hors d’oeuvre tray as though it were her own personal property. She finally decided she just _had_ to have the recipe to give to her chef back home. You should have seen the look of sublime horror on her face when she found out it was candied nug tongues – each wrapped around a single blood lotus bulb - with a mustard-berry glaze and just a _touch_ of deathroot extract to keep it interesting.”

“That sounds ghastly,” I said, “Did you have any of them?”

“Certainly not. I saw them on their tray when I arrived. They looked like little rosettes of anguish.”

I stood up, stretched and crossed over to flop next to him on the couch. “Ugh. Maker, I’m tired.”

“Tired?” he said in feigned shock. “You’re not allowed to be tired yet. The Exalted Council hasn’t even begun.”

“It’s not just that. It’s everything.”

He sat up a bit more, expression sympathetic. “Tell me. How ‘everything’? Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No, it's just…all of this. Orlais. Politics. The Inquisition.” I waved my left hand – my _greenly glowing_ left hand – at him. “ _This_ fucking thing. Ferelden. Protocol. Manners. Telling people what to do. Having to listen to people tell me what I _should_ be doing. _Fixing_ things. I’m so _fucking_ sick of it all.”

I took a drink, only to discover my bottle was somehow empty again. Dorian handed me another and I absently cooled it with a small ice spell. "Maybe it does have something to do with your being gone this past month. I realized I'm really not enjoying my life any more. I'm just going through the motions with the Inquisition because that's become what I do."

"You mean _I'm_ the only breath of fresh air in your otherwise stale existence?"

"Hah. You joke, but it's perilously close to the truth. I'm not even sure why I'm doing this job anymore aside from inertia and sheer force of habit."

He stared at me wide-eyed for a moment, then burst out laughing. It was not the reaction I had expected.

"How is that funny?" I demanded.

"M-maker!" he said between gasps, "I'm sorry, but every power-monger in Thedas probably just experienced a frisson of pure horror that they are now attempting to understand," and he was off again.

I sipped my drink and waited for him to get himself under control.

"Oh dear… no wonder I love you. You still have the ability to surprise me. Just consider what you said from an outsider's point of view, Kai."

"Please enlighten me," I suggested, feeling a bit nettled at this point.

He'd stopped laughing, but he couldn't quite wipe the grin off his face. "You are easily one of the most powerful men in southern Thedas. You say 'jump' and entire squadrons of people ask 'how high'. Kings and generals pay attention to you and try to curry your favor. There are people who have _killed_ trying to get to a position even a fraction as powerful as the one you somehow managed to waltz into like you'd been born to it. And here you are in all seriousness telling me you can't think of one damn reason why you should continue as Inquisitor." He shook his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

I half-smiled and rolled my eyes at him. "All right, I can see the humor in it. But as you said -- they're on the outside. I'm sure there are plenty of people who would love doing this because of the power, but one thing I've discovered is I'm not one of them. It was interesting when we were fighting Corypheus and Samson, but now all it is for the most part is bloody politics, which I despise."

"I know," he shook his head, still looking amused, "and I understand, although I guarantee a lot of people won't. I think if the words you said were ever uttered in front of the Magisterium, fully half of them would drop dead of shock and incomprehension on the spot. So I suppose the question is: what do you want to do about it, amatus?” 

“I don’t know. I’m lying. Yes I do.” I turned to sit sideways on the couch so I was facing him. “Dorian, can I ask you something serious?”

“Of course. Though you’re starting to make me nervous.” He kept his tone light, but there was a hint of concern behind it.

“Are you planning on going back to Tevinter? Permanently?”

He topped off his glass of wine and at my affirmative nod, handed me another beer, then turned, mirroring my position. “Eventually. Probably, yes. At least for a time. There are changes that need to be made, and Maevaris can’t do it all alone. But if you’re worried that my newly minted position as ambassador is going to precipitate something, don’t be. I’m quite sure Father was behind it, and not out of some desire to reward me.”

I nodded. “Perhaps he’s hoping just to spite him you’ll return home and do your duty to the furtherance of the Pavus line.”

He laughed. “Perhaps, in which case I shall once again disappoint him.”

“Good.” I gave my head a quick shake. “Not that you’re going to disappoint him. Sorry. I disappointed my own parents so long ago it’s just a distant memory now.”

“By..?”

I snorted. “Being a mage, of course.”

“Of course,” he groaned. “Silly me, forgetting something like that.”

I picked up my conversational thread, determined not to allow myself to get distracted. “It’s just- I could use your support in the next while.”

“You know you always have my support.” He rested a hand lightly on my knee.

“Then I have a few things to tell you. I’d rather none of the others hear any of this right now.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Sounds terribly dramatic.”

“I suppose that's a matter of opinion, but I'm expecting it's going to piss some people off.” I paused a moment to arrange my thoughts. “One: Unless someone can give me one fuck of a good reason not to, I’m going to disband the Inquisition.”

“Ah. So this isn't just idle discontent.” He didn’t look terribly surprised. “Are you quite sure?”

“Screamingly. I can’t – scratch that. I _don’t want_ to do it anymore. It’s too big, it’s too exhausting, and these days, regardless of what Cassandra and some of the others think, it’s superfluous.”

He nodded and gave my knee a squeeze. “Frankly, amatus, I’m glad to hear you say that. Since Corypheus died and we cleaned up his mess, Skyhold has felt rather…cold and soulless.”

I couldn’t help it; I let out a snort of laughter. “Solas?” 

He gave me a crooked smile. “Please. Feeling Solas is not something I was _ever_ eager to do. You know what I mean, though.”

“Yes. Sometimes I feel like it’s a big, airy crypt. And if I stay there it’s going to kill me.”

“Mm, You forgot the part about it being a _cold_ airy crypt,” he agreed. “So what’s the second thing?”

“Well, it kind of follows. Not staying at Skyhold and all. And the Inquisition. Not doing that, I mean. Depending on what happens with _us_ too, of course. Or what you want to-“

“Kai.” Dorian’s voice held about equal levels of amusement and impatience. “You’re dithering. Just _say_ it.”

“Well…” I took a gulp of beer. “I’ve become a Jenny.”

“You… _excuse_ me?”

“Earlier today. Sera offered. Said when all this ends I could join the Friends of Red Jenny. So I can do all the things without having to be the big-hat.”

Dorian laughed. “Fasta vass, you’re starting to sound like her.”

I stifled a yawn. “Sorry. Getting a little punchy. Point is, I said yes. To be honest, the thought is kind of appealing. I have no idea what it might entail, but it’s got to better than this bullshit.”

He studied me for a moment, head cocked to one side, a smile playing on his lips. “Truth, amatus? I think it suits your personality much more than either Inquisitor or the Herald of Andraste have, even though you're very good at what you do in that capacity."

"I agree. Oh - I'm apparently also a comte in Kirkwall with an estate and everything now." 

He nodded. "Varric told me he'd got that set up. At least you won't be homeless when you shut it all down."

"True. But it did make me wonder -- what's this going to mean between us. We never really talked about where this is going."

Dorian smoothed his mustache, looking pensive. “We’ll figure that out. It's not something we need to urgently decide. Somehow I doubt that your new job requirements will be overly restrictive.”

“I suppose. There is one last thing.” I looked down at the mark on my left hand. It flared ever so slightly. And it hurt. Not a lot; just like a sudden cramp. But the hurting was new. I met Dorian’s eyes. “It’s this. The Anchor. It’s getting worse.”

Now he looked concerned. “I thought it had been stable since the breach was closed. Worse how?”

I sighed. “Nothing big. Yet, anyway. It keeps flaring on me, more than it ever has before. Little pulses and spurts all sodding day. Lately it’s added a new one to its repertoire: now the bigger flare-ups hurt.”

“Venhedis,” he swore.

“Yeah. Damned if I know what to do about it, but I wanted you to know.” I drained the last of my current beer. “You know, this is the second time today I’ve been drunk.”

Dorian took the cue to drop the topic of my hand. “Well if that’s the case-“ He stood up and took my hands, pulling me upright as well. “I’ll be damned if this night is going to end with you passing out on me. Come on.”

I let him lead me to the bedroom, a completely irrelevant thought entering my mind. “Did you know Cullen’s got himself a Mabari?”

“Really?” Dorian quirked a smile at me. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy together. And now he’ll smell like a Ferelden.”

“Oh, meow.”

“Did you _really_ just say that?”

If you think I’m going to tell you what happened next, you’re shit out of luck. There are plenty of descriptions of that sort of thing out there; I’m sure you won’t have much difficulty using your imagination. One or two things you come up with may even be accurate. We hadn't seen each other for an excruciatingly long month, so suffice to say it was quite a while before we actually got to sleep.


	4. Day 2 - Reunions (Part 2)/ Unwelcome News

“Kai.” I opened my eyes what seemed like five minutes after I’d gone to sleep, but it couldn’t be because the bedroom was now dimly lit by sunlight beaming in past the curtains. Dorian was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. He had, I have to say, a rather sappy look on his face.

“Wozzit? Something wrong?” My head felt stuffed with cotton batting. Served me right for drinking that much the day before, I suppose.

“No, nothing wrong.” He ran a hand across my head. “Your hair’s growing out.”

“Shit. Haven’t had time to deal with it yet.” My nose felt stuffed too; that always happens when I drink too much.

“You should let it grow. You look good with hair.”

“Pfah.” I yawned. “Makes my head hot. Can’t get used to it after all this time. And I don’t like all the maintenance. Besides,” I pushed myself up to a vaguely sitting position, “I figure you use my allotment of hair time as well as your own.”

“I do have fabulous hair, don’t I.”

“Your moustache alone makes other men seethe with envy,” I agreed. 

“I shall simply have to continue to be a shining example of tonsorial perfection for the both of us, then. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Actually-“ I checked the water pitcher on the bed stand. Joy; it still had water in it. “-you should be thanking _me_.” 

No glass. _Fuck it._ I drank out of the pitcher.

“Thanking _you_? How so?”

“Think about it. My simplicity in both hair and wardrobe allows you to shine. If I were to listen to all of you and start diversifying, there’s every chance I’d upstage you.” I smiled benignly and ruffled his still-bed-mussed hair.

“Why, you cheeky bastard,” he gave me an exaggerated glare. “As if anyone is capable of upstaging _me_.”

“The next time you feel the need to encourage me to branch out, just ask yourself: ‘Is it worth it? What if Kai’s right?’ ” I fought back a yawn and felt my left hand flare briefly. The sensation was uncomfortably like being bitten. “Is there some reason I’m awake? What time is it?”

“Don’t worry, it’s early.” He frowned. “Criminally early. Unfortunately they’re demanding I _meet_ with some people in my capacity as Tevinter ambassador of all things.”

“You must have made quite the positive impression on the Nevarrans,” I teased.

He groaned. “Do _not_ even joke about that. But I do have to go, and I just wanted to wish you luck in case I don’t see you before the Council begins.”

Now it was my turn to groan. “Thank you. I expect it to be excruciating.”

“Which is why I arranged a wake-up for you an hour and a half from now,” he said brightly. “Now say goodbye and get some more sleep.”

I took him in my arms and kissed him as enthusiastically as I could with a mouth tasting like a Fade demon had marched through it, mumbling, “Sorry. Morning breath.”

“Understood. You can make it up to me later.” He disentangled himself and climbed out of bed.

I tried to punch my pillow back into shape. “You know I’ll probably never get back to sleep after this.”

“I have faith in you,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

**###**

Dorian’s faith turned out to be well-placed. The next thing I knew, I was being awakened by a nervous-looking elven girl in palace livery. No “Kai” now; it was all “Inquisitor” and “Your Worship”. _If anyone calls me anything of the sort after I disband the Inquisition I am going to hit them with the biggest fireball…_

I dismissed the servant, pulled on my clothes and set out for my quarters. I hadn't gotten far before I was waylaid by Josephine. “Inquisitor! I am glad I found you,” she chirped.

“What’s wrong?” There had to be something wrong. There was always something wrong.

“Wr- Oh! There’s nothing wrong.” She smiled adorably at me. "I do hope you recovered from your night at the opera. Any ear-ringing should go away in a day or two."

"So it was an opera. I wasn't sure, what with the shouting and the stoat and all."

Her eyes widened. "Then you didn't like it?"

"I didn't say that," I replied, smiling. "Just…maybe next time we should try a day at the races or something."

"I suppose that might be interesting," she said thoughtfully, then started. “Oh! I almost forgot: Vivienne asked me to tell you that you have an appointment with her.”

“Tell me? When did this happen? What’s it for?” I really was not awake enough for this.

She shrugged. “All I know is she told me you have an appointment and you must ensure you see her at the baths with at least an hour to spare before the Council begins.”

“And that would be…” _Never would be nice_.

“You’re in luck. The current timetable is set for early afternoon.” She frowned at her notes. “It was supposed to begin this morning, but there was some controversy over the placement of inkwells.”

“Well, praise be to the gods of big egos and petty bureaucracy,” I said. “I’ve only just gotten up. As you may have guessed.”

“Well, I _did_ notice you’ve got hair,” she allowed, then added cheerily, “You should let it grow. It looks nice.”

 _Did my friends and lover all get together and plan these things behind my back?_  “Thanks, but no thanks.” I gave her a quick wave in parting and made it to my quarters without further incident.

**###**

Once I’d finished my morning ablutions – and shaved my head before someone else could tell me how nice my hair looked – I headed over to the tavern. No, not for more alcohol. I admit I’d been overdoing it lately, but all I was after at that time was something simple to eat and as many cups of strong Antivan coffee as I could down in half an hour.

Naturally, just mere inches from the bar and being able to place my order, I was interrupted, this time by Krem, second-in-command of The Iron Bull’s* mercenary squad, the Chargers.

“Your Worship. I’m glad you’re here.” Krem’s a great guy, but I was so close to my breakfast. He sidled towards me conspiratorially. “Listen, I need you to keep the Chief distracted while we sneak this dragon skull through the room behind him.”

“Wait. What?” I looked where he indicated and yes, there was a good-sized dragon skull on the ground near the doorway. Maker knows where they got the thing. 

“It’s for his birthday,” Krem explained.

“Do Qunari even have birthdays?” I was pretty sure Bull had said something about the Qunari not celebrating birthdays. Kind of went along with their whole no-parents-no-family thing. 

Krem apparently decided my question was rhetorical. “All right, here he comes. Just keep him talking. He loves talking.”

“Okay if I eat something while I keep him talking?” I didn’t exactly whine, but I was getting close.

Krem nodded impatiently as he ducked out of Bull’s line of sight.

I took a seat at the bar, waved to Bull to get his attention then _finally_ was able to order my breakfast. 

* * *

* It occurs to me a quick description of Iron Bull might be in order. He's Qunari, so he’s big, gray skinned, and has horns. But even for a Qunari, he’s big. As in, a giant slab of muscle roughly the size of his namesake with horns that would make an actual bull weep with envy. I hate to say it, but it makes his head look like it’s roughly the size of a walnut. He’s also got a rakish eyepatch covering his missing left eye. When he joined the Inquisition he was a spy for the Qun, but now he’s Tal-Vashoth, which means he and the Qun have parted ways forevermore. Their loss was definitely our gain, and despite his looks, he’s actually extremely intelligent and a canny tactician. He also has a weakness for redheads and dragon slaying, but we all have our quirks.

* * *

“Hey. Boss, good to see you.” Bull sat on the stool next to me. 

“Bull,” I nodded to him. A serving girl set a large cup of Antivan coffee, a bowl of thick stew and a warm slice of bread in front of me. I thanked her and said to Bull, “Mind if I eat?”

“Go ahead,” he shrugged. “A little early for lunch, isn’t it?”

“Breakfast.” I took a drink of coffee. Sheer heaven. “Late night.” 

“More political bullshit?”

“Thankfully, no,” I said around a bite of gravy-soaked bread. “Evening of Orlesian culture with Josephine, then spent the rest of the night in a private meeting with the Tevinter ambassador.”

“Good on you, Boss,” he grinned. “Well. I should let you eat, then.” He started to stand back up.

I glanced outside, where all the Chargers were wrestling with the skull. Fact: Dragon bone is _really_ heavy. “No!”

He looked at me quizzically.

“I mean, I haven’t seen you in ages.” I continued. “We should talk.”

“Okay…” he settled back down on his stool. “What do you want to talk about?”

Normally I have no problem talking with Bull, but now that I was supposed to, I couldn’t think of one intelligent thing to say. What followed was perhaps the most awkward excuse for a conversation that I've had outside of my rather painfully stilted interactions with Mother Giselle. I started with the insipid observation that, "Most mages hate the thick of battle, but I can't imagine hanging back; it's nice to get your hands dirty."

Not only do I not talk like that, but it wasn't entirely true. I _prefer_ keeping some distance; makes for much more effective spellcasting. But I'd recently learned a new school of magic that included a spell to conjure a pretty kick-ass sword for those times when you end up in the thick of things, and I did enjoy that on occasion.

So he looked at me a bit funny, but smiled as he said, "That's why I like you, Boss. You swing a sword. It's a weird sword made out of magic, but still."

Unfortunately he didn't seem inclined to add anything else to the conversation; just sat there looking at me expectantly as I ate. Turned out my first comment was the high point. Don't ask me why, but I tried bringing up Orlesian history for a moment, which netted me a wary, "Uh huh."

I gulped more coffee and glanced outside. The Chargers were stalled, standing around having some sort of debate. Wonderful. One of the Chargers tried rushing into the skull head-on and was thrown back in a shower of sparks. Sparks reminded me of rifts.

“It’s good to see that the Veil has largely healed now that most of the major rifts are closed," I ventured, adding, "You might think otherwise, but the Veil isn’t technically a physical barrier, It’s more like a magical vibration that repels the Fade.”

That got me a "Hmmnh." Guess I'd better save the magical discussions for Dorian.

More stew. The Chargers had regrouped and had lifted the skull up together. The way they were carrying it practically guaranteed they weren’t going to make it all the way inside. And three, two, one…back down on the ground it went. Bull was getting restless, which was making it even harder to think.

“Do you think news of the Exalted Council could affect the lyrium shipments from Orzammar?” I said far too enthusiastically.

“Uuuh…maybe,” Bull was clearly wondering what would possess me to ask him something like that. So was I.

The Chargers were regrouping. I signaled for more coffee as Bull quietly sighed. Outside, Dalish (their certainly-not-a-mage) finally let loose with a telekinesis spell and the skull started moving. At least they were making progress, but it was far, far too slow for my tastes.

“Did you know that Ferelden has its own names for lords,” I said, launching into a lengthy rundown of that country’s noble designations. _Andraste’s furry ass, I’m actually boring myself_.

This time Bull’s sigh wasn’t quiet. “Good to know.”

I busied myself finishing the last of my meal and swore to myself I'd just apologize to Bull and exit as gracefully as possible. Thankfully, that had been all the time the Chargers needed. “Surprise!” Krem’s voice rang out. “Happy birthday, Chief!”

Bull stood up. “Aw, you guys!” He waved an encompassing hand at the Chargers, the skull and myself. “You got me!” And he winked at me. Of course he knew what was going on, I realized. Probably enjoyed every moment of my painful performance.

I downed the rest of my coffee and waved goodbye to Bull. Cries of “Break out the casks!” left little doubt what he’d be occupied with for the foreseeable future.

**###**

I decided then would be as good a time as any to see what this appointment with Vivienne was all about. _Please, not something about the bloody Circles_. I like Vivienne, but we’re on such opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to the question of reinstating the Circles of Magi complete with their Templar keepers it isn’t funny. She firmly believes they’re necessary and good (though she managed to get herself to a position in the Orlesian court where _she’s_ never had to endure the majority of their strictures).

I agree formal training is necessary, and the training I got in the Ostwick Circle was excellent, but I personally find the rest of the system the Chantry constructed to go along with it barbaric. Pulling people away from their families, locking them away from the world for the rest of their lives, _and_ setting religious soldier/mage-killers to watch over them every fucking moment because it’s _assumed_ we’re going to do something deadly is not a sensible way to deal with the situation. 

Vivienne maintains the Circles protect us as well as the common people. I maintain it tells the common people _and_ mages that we’re something to be feared and hated. I try to avoid talking to Viv about it. (Truth be told, I try to avoid Vivienne unless I have someone else there as a buffer.) 

Problem was, as The Inquisitor, I’d been pretty much the only power to endorse the new College of Enchanters the former rebels have formed. With the Inquisition disbanded, Vivienne would be in a position as Grand Enchanter of the Circle to crush the College. It was something I needed to work out, but I was in no mood to do so with the blasted Exalted Council hanging over my head. There’d undoubtedly be a grace period after the disbanding in which to address outstanding issues like that.

Still, the appointment was at the baths, which - unlike some people - I don’t consider a venue for serious political discussion, so I retained a degree of optimism as I arrived. Vivienne was surrounded by a small bevy of courtiers, but waved them away when she saw me.

“Darling, you made it! Excellent. I scheduled this appointment _ages_ ago and they do appreciate punctuality.”

I raised an eyebrow. “This appointment..?”

“With the Imperial Garden Spa, of course.” She arranged herself catlike on one of divans. I sat on the one across from her. “You work so hard, my dear. I wanted to treat you.”

 _Spa? No. She did not just say that_. “I’m not really a spa kind of person, Vivienne,” I carefully objected.

“Darling, that is why you so desperately need this appointment,” she decreed as spa attendants descended upon us.

First I was taken to a changing room where I traded in my clothes for a sort of all-one-piece shorts-and-tank-top affair. I was actually a bit relieved about that, as I’d heard most spas want to wrest everything but a towel from you.* 

* * *

* See, a few years ago, when Samson and his Red Templars were everywhere and Fade Rifts were spitting demons out everywhere else, it sometimes seemed like all we did was fight big, ugly things that wanted to kill us. And one day I found out the hard way that Freak Armor Failure + Really Big Demon With Really Big Claws = Some _Really_ Nasty Scars.** Healing potions and magic kept me alive, but couldn’t also address aesthetics at the time, so my left side from about chest to waist isn’t very pretty.*** Bull keeps telling me I should look upon it as proof of a battle well-fought (I _did_ blow the demon who did it into salad toppings), but people stare and I can do without that. Still, at least it wasn't my face.  
** That’s also when I switched up from light to medium armor.  
*** And what the _fuck_ does the universe have against my left side? First that, now the arm. It sometimes makes me worry what’s next.  


* * *

Next we were escorted to the hot pools, which, okay, were relaxing to sit back in for a while, then another, colder pool to refresh you and wake you up again. Then a massage and a light meal of juices and little sandwiches. Then we were just to…lie back on divans with little cheese discs over our eyes and chat. Uncultured provincial that I am, my first question once the attendants had left us alone was, “What are the cheese wheels for?”

“It pains me that you even have to ask. You’ve clearly been living too long in barely civilized conditions.”

 _Ah, so you don’t know either_. 

Somewhere behind us, I heard a wild laugh that sounded very familiar. _Sera?_ To Viv I said, “Did you hear something?”

“Re _lax_ , darling - it’s spa day,” she chided. “How have you been? It seems ages since we’ve spoken. How are your international relations with our _favourite_ Tevinter magister-to-be?”

“Are you digging for gossip, Vivienne?” I teased. “Trying to get me to give up the juicy details?”

“Merely expressing concern for your well-being, my dear,” she replied placidly. “ _Some_ one ought to.”

 _She's concerned for my well-being? That's…hunh_. I don't know which surprised me more: that she had some degree of concern for me or that she'd noticed others didn't seem too worried about it. I was wondering if there was a good response to that when a sound distracted me. _That was definitely Sera’s laugh in the background again. And running noises. And things being dropped. What was she up to now_? And by then any response to her comment would have sounded weird, so I just dropped it.

“Do you come to this spa very often?” I asked Vivienne.

“As often as I can. Sadly, no more than twice a year at best. Duty first.” 

“You must be keeping very busy.”

“Someone has to keep the mess that’s been made of Thedas’ institutions of magic from flying apart,” she replied.

 _Okay, Kai, avoid getting into it with her. Just change the subject_. “How do you think the conference will end? What do you think they’ll decide?” That seemed safe enough.

“It’s all foolish posturing. The nations of Thedas know they can only politely ask the Inquisition to be on its way.” 

“But they do love their posturing,” I groused, then steered the conversation into idle chitchat about things going on around Orlais and Skyhold lately. Vivienne can be quite charming and witty when she wants to be, and fortunately she wanted to be.

Attendants came to relieve us of our cheese wheels, apparently signaling the end of spa day. I wondered idly what became of them after: reusing them would be revolting, as would eating them. _Bait for mouse traps, perhaps_? 

Vivienne stood up lithely. “Don’t you feel better, my dear? This place really does work miracles.”

I stood as well and looked behind us. There were hams strewn across the floor. I counted five of them. And what looked like a banana tied to a stick. “What happened?” I wondered aloud.

“Darling, it’s _spa day_ ,” Vivienne reiterated with a patient smile. “Don’t fret. You’ll undo all the good they’ve done.” She started walking in the direction of the changing rooms. “Come along, Inquisitor. They have other appointments, you know.”

**###**

While I have no desire whatsoever to make a habit out of it, I will admit Viv’s “spa day” had left me feeling a great deal more relaxed. Therefore I should have known something would come along to, as she said, undo all the good it’d done. Foolishly, I’d thought that thing was the Exalted Council and I had nothing else to worry about.

I walked from the baths to one of those semi-secluded areas for small gatherings that I mentioned, drawn by the sound of Varric's voice. He was saying, “As the most eloquent dwarf you know, Sparkler-“

_Sparkler is Varric’s nickname for Dorian._

“Speech!” That was Sera. “Speech! Speech! Way too much speech.”

I could see them now. Varric, Dorian and Cole were standing, Sera was on one of the divans set up in the area, and The Iron Bull…appeared to have passed out on the ground. Given how long ago he’d started in on the casks, I wasn’t entirely surprised. They were holding mugs and toasting… what?

“Varric, there’s really no need,” Dorian was saying. He didn’t look particularly happy.

I was getting a bad feeling about this as I approached them. “What’s going on?”

“Inquisitor!” Well, Varric seemed happy. “Just in time.” He turned to Dorian. “Sparkles, the Imperium doesn’t deserve you. Or want you; it may even kill you. But we’ll miss you, if it counts.”

 _Whoa whoa whoa… ‘miss you’?_  I whipped my gaze over to Dorian. Now he looked positively stricken. He glared at Varric. 

“Aaand you didn’t know,” Varric trailed off. “Okay, folks, time to take the party elsewhere!” He glanced down at Bull, “Uh, leave him.” He, Sera and Cole retreated, all of them throwing worried glances at us.

Dorian slowly walked a few paces away and stopped, his back to me. I clamped down hard on the urge to start demanding explanations as I closed the distance between us.

“It’s true,” he said quietly as he turned to face me. “I couldn’t stay away from Tevinter forever.” Now he sounded almost defensive. “I’m leaving as soon as the Exalted Council is done.”

 _After everything we talked about last night?_ The rational part of my mind tried to point out that he’d have to have a good reason for such an about-face. “Ah,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral, “I see.”

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. Frankly I’ve been dreading this conversation but…here it is.” He took a deep breath. “My father is dead.”

 _Shit. That’s the good reason, and it's inarguably good._ Cheerful little harbinger of misery that it was, the Anchor chose that moment to have itself a little flare-up. It felt like being bitten by a handful of rats. _This day’s just getting better and better._

“Assassinated, I believe,” Dorian continued. “I received notice this morning. A perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium. We only met a few times when I was home. He didn’t say anything about keeping me as his heir. This…ambassadorship. His doing, I’m told. He must have wanted me away when the trouble began. I _have_ to go back.”

“So you’ll truly be a Magister,” I said.

“Oh yes. I can’t wait to degrade the Magisterium with my presence,” he said with that lightly sarcastic tone he uses. “A new outfit is required.”

“And then what?”

“I find my father’s killers and kill them back. Then I find those giving Tevinter a bad name and kill them. They’re most likely the same people, so that should make the job easier.”

I nodded, knowing in his place I’d want to do much the same thing. “I know it was complicated, but…I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” he said solemnly. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

I decided I’d better tackle the druffalo in the room. “What of us? This is it, then?”

“Nonsense. There will always be an ‘us’,” he insisted. “We’ll just be…farther apart for a time.”

_'For a time'? Yeah, sure. That always works so well. My life is officially turning into a sack of shit._

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, and it must have shown.

“Now, now, don’t pout,” Dorian chided. “They’ll put that expression on a statue, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Nothing about this is funny. I _am_ sorry. For what it’s worth.”

“You’ll need help,” I ventured. “I could go with you.” _You know damn well I’ll have the time soon._

He shook his head. “Not this time, amatus. I won’t be entirely without support. Maevaris has gathered other Magisters who feel as we do. We’ll be an actual faction in the Magisterium.” And because he’s Dorian, “I’ll teach them manners. Take them shopping! It’ll be fun.”

A big, very _hurt_ part of me wanted to start arguing with him, but now was not the time. I just said, “I wish you safe travels and the best of luck.”

He smiled, looking a little relieved. “Oh, I’ll need it. Thank you. Magisters are tricksy bastards.”

He paused for a moment, digging something out of his pocket, then handed it to me. “A present. A _going away_ present.”

I studied it for a moment. It was a small, crystalline thing. There was something about it that struck me as familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“It’s a sending crystal,” Dorian explained. “Amazing what friendship with the Inquisition gives you access to. If I get in over my head, or you’re overwhelmed with sorrow for the lack of my velvety voice… _magic_. What, you didn’t think I’d just leave and you’d never hear from me again, did you?”

I admit I’d been thinking exactly that. Of course, I wasn’t thinking too clearly at that moment. I just stared at him, afraid to start talking because I'd probably say something I'd regret.

He looked me in the eyes. “ _You_ are the man I love, amatus. Nothing will truly keep us apart.” He embraced me and gave me a kiss fully on par with his apology kiss of the day before, then disengaged with a conspiratorial smirk. “Now let’s finish the _good_ wine before the others get back.”

I snorted. “You know I don’t care for wine.”

He sighed despairingly. “Fine, _I_ shall finish the good wine. I’m sure there’s something beer-ish there for you.”

“My only regret is I can’t follow Bull’s fine example,” Bull snored agreeably from his position between the divan and a planter. “There’s still some sort of Council happening today, and they seem to expect me to attend.”

“Unfeeling cads, the lot of them.”

“Quite. But I don’t think one or two will hurt.” I stopped him before he sat down. “This isn’t over, you know. The Council is likely to go on for days.”

He nodded, grey eyes wide and serious. “I know. And we’ll talk. But at least I won’t have to go through telling you again.”

“And I won’t have to go through getting blindsided again.” I knew that came out sounding nearly as resentful as I felt, and forced myself to adopt a lighter tone. “You’ll have to show me how to use this crystal. I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never actually seen one before…”

**###**

Once they were sure there weren’t going to be hysterics or fireballs, the others came back. I stayed long enough for a few bland Orlesian beers, pretending to be much more sensible and understanding about Dorian’s imminent departure than I felt, then left them to it. I wanted to check in with Cassandra before the bloody council got underway and was getting the feeling that time was running short for that.

She was at the far end of a long balcony in “our” section of the grounds, accompanied by a few of her ubiquitous attendants, outfitted in full Divine gear for the upcoming council. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to seeing her dressed like that.

She let out a surprised “Oh!” when she saw me approaching, actually backing up a few steps, then stood there with a strange, uncharacteristically diffident look on her face. Did she know about Dorian or... “Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Yes. Well, I…wanted to speak with you. And now you’re here.” She actually looked nervous. 

I looked at her warily. “Should I leave and come back later so you can try again?”

“Always with clever suggestions,” she almost-chuckled, then with a wide-eyed stare, “Maybe you should sit.”

 _Maybe I don’t want to; you’re beginning to make me nervous._ “I can stand,” I replied.

“Maybe _I_ should sit,” she decided, walking over to a nearby stairway and doing just that.

 _In that case…_ I sat beside her and waited for this to make sense.

“Inquisitor, I want you to know that I am your friend,” she began.

_Did someone poison my stew? Am I going to die screaming at sixteen hundred sharp or something?_

“I will always be your friend,” she continued. 

“Oh, well, that’s-“

She charged on ahead. “So I hope to give you sound advice on this momentous day. Do what is in your heart, my friend, no matter what anyone might tell you.”

 _What the f- momentous day?_ Somehow I didn’t think she was talking about the Exalted Council. “Maybe I should leave and come back,” I suggested, not entirely joking. “I think I missed the beginning.”

“I’m talking about marriage,” she said impatiently.

 _Huh?_  “Marriage?” I gaped at her.

“Of course. Dorian being Tevinter will raise eyebrows across the Empire, but if that is y…” She trailed off, the look on my face clearly telling her volumes. 

I looked away from her, trying to gather my thoughts. _Maker, if she had any idea…the timing on this couldn’t be better coordinated if someone was_ trying _to give me emotional gut-punches_. I had to admit to myself that if I’d heard about this happening to someone else, I’d find it darkly humorous in a _proof that the universe can be a real dick_ sort of way.

“You’re not proposing. To anyone,” Cassandra said flatly. She stood up. “I am going to _kill_ Varric. Why do I believe everything he says? _Why?_ ”

“He said I was going to propose?” I wondered when. Surely before Dorian told him the news. Varric likes a good joke, but he’s never been mean-spirited.

“He… mentioned a proposal. I suppose I filled in the blanks,” Cassandra confessed. “Or he did it on purpose. That dwarf gets entirely too much joy from my discomfort.”

Her obvious discomfiture made me chuckle. “You’re adorable,” I told her as I stood too.

That got a small laugh out of her. “There are far worse things to be. Being Inquisitor has brought you good things. Many good things. But only a few have been by your choice.” She smiled at me. “Take what happiness you can from those and do not let them go. That is all I meant to say. Advice from a friend for the days to come.”

“Thank you, Cassandra. I’ll try to do just that,” I assured her. I really was rather touched by her words, and the fact that she’d plowed right through her embarrassment to make sure I heard them. “But first I’ll see you at the Council. Unfortunately.”

She made a disgusted noise. “Yes. You might want to get ready; I’m told they’ve come to an agreement about the inkwells.”

**###**

I was as ready for the bloody council as I’d ever be, but as I knew they’d send someone for me when they were ready, I made no move to go to there. Instead I found a bench in an isolated area of the grounds and tried for quiet. Cassandra was right. The way I’d been feeling lately, it was easy to forget that in many ways the Inquisition was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I’d tolerated life in the Circle at Ostwick – not that I’d had any say in the matter - but I wasn't happy there. It’s one of the reasons I disagree vehemently with Vivienne about the necessity of re-forming them. It was a stifling, cloistered existence in which privacy was all but unheard of and too much creativity or independence was frowned upon. I’ve always imagined it’s not terribly different from how zoo animals feel. You’re trained, fed regularly and given a bit of space to pace around in, but you’re watched every moment of your life – being dangerous and all – and any freedoms are purely illusory. Some people adapted to it, even liked it. There’s a certain comfort for many in having all choice removed so they can just orbit placidly in the surety of routine and clear parameters. After talking with The Iron Bull, I’d say those same people would thrive under the Qun.

When Varric and Hawke’s friend Anders blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and precipitated the Mage Rebellion in Dragon 9:37 I was nearly thirty-one years old and had lived my entire adolescence and adult life in the confines of the Ostwick Circle. By 9:38 I’d sided with the mage rebellion* and privately decided that, should they ever manage to reestablish the Circles, I’d turn full apostate and, if necessary, leave southern Thedas entirely rather than return to that life. 

* * *

* Not joined, though. To be quite honest, I left the Ostwick Circle the moment the opportunity presented itself by simply…walking away. I then guilted my parents into giving me enough money to survive, bought myself a new wardrobe that did not and will never include so much as a single robe, and dedicated myself to avoiding the conflict as much as humanly possible in favor of setting up an actual life of my own. They didn't mind my joining the delegation to the Conclave a few years later because of my family connections and _because_ I’d stayed out of it. I always found it amusing that everyone in the Inquisition just assumed I was still a good little Circle mage; only Dorian ever thought to ask me about it.

* * *

I’m not going to say much more about the years between then and the Conclave; it really doesn’t pertain to this story and frankly, I don’t feel like it. The only important bits are that I found out I’m far more creative than I was ever allowed to be, and that I thrive in environments that involve choice and the dangers of uncertainty. Oh, and I’m more than capable of living in the real world without going mad or turning to blood magic.

Of course, by the time of Justinia’s Conclave, the mage-templar war had gotten out of control, with the fanatics of both sides making it difficult for the rest of us. I’d been there as part of the mage delegation, but what with one thing and another, I’d shown up late. And as they say, the rest is history.

The point of all this is: along with the sodding Anchor in my hand and the headaches of leading an increasingly unwieldy organization had come more positive things. The friends I now had, above all. Thanks to Varric, I apparently now had holdings and a title of my own. Sera was giving me a future doing something that was – as Dorian had said – remarkably well-suited to my personality.

And Dorian, of course. Even though the whole Tevinter thing has managed to grossly complicate matters, I wouldn’t give up a moment of my relationship with him for the world.

I could go on, but I’m sure my musings are becoming tiresome reading. It was just something I sternly told myself I needed to keep in mind when I started feeling too sorry for myself.


	5. Council / A Mysterious Death

“…Thank you, your holiness. Now, Arl Teagan, as to your concerns…” That was Josephine.

What a difference a mere ninety minutes can make. All those lofty thoughts about appreciating the good things in my life had limped away into a dark corner of my mind, beaten into quivering, scurrying shadow-rodents by the relentless onslaught of self-important fuckery that was the Exalted Council. Bloody right I was feeling sorry for myself.

“The Inquisition established an armed presence in Ferelden territory. You outright _seized_ Caer Bronach in Crestwood!”  And that was Arl Teagan of Ferelden. I’d already decided giving him the benefit of the doubt earlier was a mistake. He really was a prick.

“Our goal was to keep more Ferelden citizens from dying, not to seize power,” I said.

“Your help was appreciated two years ago, Inquisitor,” Teagan snapped. “Now order is restored, yet you remain.” He hit the table in front of him as punctuation. “Invading under the pretext of restoring order is exactly what the Grey Wardens did to us centuries ago. And we exiled them.”

“That was Ferelden’s mistake,” piped up Cyril. “Just as exiling the wardens at Adamant Fortress was regrettably the Inquisition’s mistake.”

_For fucks sake, I did it to protect them, you masked meathead._

“Of course Orlais tolerates this interference.” Teagan glared daggers at Cyril. I felt for poor Cass, sitting in between them. “The Inquisition is the _only_ reason Celine still sits upon the throne.”

“Rest assured, Teagan, the empire of Orlais will not stand idle if the Inquisition oversteps its bounds,” Cyril hit back. “Unlike Ferelden, however, Orlais understands that these were well-intentioned mistakes of a young organization.”

I could feel a headache coming on. Those idiots could keep their back-and-forth posturing going forever. I let my head drop a bit, preferring to stare at the tabletop rather than the debaters. Josie glanced over at me questioningly.

“An organization in need of a guiding hand; yours, no doubt,” Teagan was snarking.

I met her eyes and shook my head. _This is bullshit._

Rescue came unexpectedly in the form of a uniformed elven woman crossing the floor to our table. “Pardon me, Inquisitor,” she said, bending over to speak to me quietly, “Sister Leliana asked to speak with you. In private.”

I was hardly going to look a gift-emergency in the mouth. “My apologies,” I interrupted as I stood. “An urgent matter has come to my attention. Ambassador Montelier, can you handle this for a short while?”

“I- Of course, Inquisitor,” she replied, looking none too thrilled.

As I walked swiftly from the chamber I could hear Cyril complaining, “This is highly irregular.”

Not to be outdone, Teagan barked at Josephine, “Are we not even worth the Inquisitor’s time?” _Prick._

With a momentary thought for Josephine and Cassandra, I followed Leliana’s woman to whatever blessed disaster so needed my attention.

**###**

There was a crowd milling about outside one of the buildings near ‘our’ section of the palace grounds, being kept in check by a few guards. The woman escorted me inside.

“Inquisitor, I thought you would want to see this,” Leliana said. She was kneeling on the floor studying what appeared to be a pile of armor. Until you noticed the blood. And the smell.

She stood up. “A Qunari warrior, in full armor. How did he get into the Winter Palace?”

“So what would the Left Hand of the Divine see when she looked at this?” I said, referring to her former position with the Chantry.

“This is a warrior, not a spy. Part of the Antaam, the Qunari military. Most of his wounds come from a fight against someone using magic, but at least a few are from a blade. He was badly hurt, separated from his allies, and made it here before he died. But how?”

“Would The Iron Bull know anything about this?” I suggested. _Assuming he’s awake now._

“I asked, and he is as surprised as we are. Since becoming Tal-Vashoth, he has had no contact with his people. He seems frustrated at not knowing more.” I’d had a hand in Bull’s leaving the Qun. I don’t regret it one bit, and he doesn’t seem to have held it against me.

Though the situation was serious, I have to admit I mostly felt both energized and relieved. It was nice to be able to finally _do_ something. “Deadly mysteries at the Winter Palace,” I intoned. “Throw in a halla statue and some caprice coins and it’s just like old times.” 

Leliana bit back a smile.

“Can Josephine manage the diplomats while I look around?” I asked, silently begging for an affirmative. 

“She will be fine. It’s all speeches and posturing for the first few days anyway, I will ask Divine Victoria to call a recess for now. I will also have our friends ready themselves for battle if need be.”

“You think that’s likely?”

Leliana slowly grinned. “I think the Exalted Council may be more exciting than they expected.”

While Leliana went off to bail me out of the council and apprise our friends of the situation, I made a slow circuit of the room. There really wasn’t much more to the corpse than what she’d already assessed. Simply one big, dead Qunari. The blood was still relatively fresh; fully liquid in the deeper pools, just going a bit tacky at the edges. _So how did you get here? I think people would have noticed something as big and loud as a battle to the death._ Which meant he’d gotten those wounds before showing up here. Which also meant he should’ve been bleeding like a stuck pig. Thus, logically, _look for the blood trail._ _Yes ser, that’s why they call me the Inquisitor._

It wasn’t hard to find; even Cyril probably could have spotted it. The splots and splashes of blood led out the door and around the corner to a secluded area of the grounds containing nothing but some niches with the ubiquitous Andrastean statuary, a long, pillar-and-beam gallery that, lacking an actual roof, was purely decorative, and a sort of fountain where it dead-ended. Nothing there but one of those overpriced Orlesian dog treats some noble must have dropped while tending to their canine fashion accessory. I stuck it in a pocket for Cullen and doubled back to look for escape routes.

Once again, it took no great powers of observation once I looked up. There was – if you’ll pardon the expression – a bloody great sanguine splotch on the trelliswork about halfway along the right hand wall. Those trellises are all over the palace and conveniently accessible on every level. I’d used them to great effect on our first adventure. It always struck me as odd, like they’re making it as easy as possible for aspiring thieves and assassins, but being Orlais, perhaps it’s considered gauche to use such an obvious route.

I trellis-climbed up three floors to a balcony whose doors to the interior were standing open. _Was someone chasing you? If so, where are they? And if not, why were you in such a hurry to get down to the grounds?_

It looked like the wing I’d entered wasn’t being used; all the furniture had been covered with white sheets and the air smelled musty. Another splash of blood led through another doorway, and in the room beyond was- _Well. I did not expect that._ “An active eluvian,” I said aloud to myself. “If I’m going through it, I’m not going alone.”

So what’s an eluvian, you may be wondering. They look like mirrors, but they’re much more. The ancient elves used them as a means to travel vast distances. To do this, you first have to either find one that’s already active, or have the key to activate one. Then you just… step through. The eluvians take you to an in-between place Morrigan calls the Crossroads. Once there, assuming you know where you’re going, you simply walk to the eluvian that’s keyed to the place you want to go and walk through that one. Thing is, as far as I knew, most of them were no longer active, and there certainly shouldn’t have been a fully operational one in an unused room of the Winter Palace. _How did they even get it in here? A bunch of horned Qunari wrestling that thing across the palace grounds would not have gone unnoticed. It’s huge._

Alas, chances were I’d never find out. Right now I needed to grab some back-up and my gear, as the final splash of blood was directly in front of the eluvian. If the Qunari were up to something, we needed to stop it before they could properly begin.

I left the building via trellis again – it was quicker and far more discreet – and jogged to my quarters where I pulled on my armor and threw my staff into its harness on my back.* 

* * *

* Just because I’ve been asked this before: No, a mage doesn’t _need_ a staff to do magic. It simply works as a focus to help channel and strengthen the spells. And in a pinch it can be a pretty serviceable spear. Or a walking stick.  


* * *

Leliana and her people had done their job with their usual efficiency, and my crew was already gathered down at the long balcony where we’d agreed to meet. “I take it you all know the situation,” I began. Everyone indicated they did. 

I caught them up on the bits they hadn't heard yet, then outlined my plans. “There’s no reason right now for all of us to go charging through that eluvian. This _should_ be a scouting mission only. We need to know what and who we’re up against. It would be best if they didn’t even know we were on to them, but obviously we can’t count on that. And we need to do this quickly. With that in mind, I’ll take a small squad with me. Everyone else, just keep an eye out for anything unusual. You all know what to do. Questions?”

No one had any. It’s not like we all hadn’t done this sort of thing before. To accompany me I chose Dorian (yes, yes, partially because he’s my boyfriend, but in addition to that he’s got an impressive breadth of knowledge about magic, history and all manner of trivia, he’s a hell of a combat mage, our styles mesh well together, and I know I can trust him implicitly), Sera (both for her skill with a bow and the fact that she’s an elf; in eluvian-world that might count for something), and The Iron Bull (for his fighting skills and mainly because he knows more about the Qunari than anyone else). We finished loading up with as many potions, grenades and supplies as we could reasonably carry and, after some discussion, took the trellis route back up to the eluvian room. We could hardly have kept things quiet if the four of us had trooped through three stories of the palace in full battle gear, after all.

“How did they even get that up here?” Dorian mused.

“I wondered that myself,” I replied. “Alright, then. Everyone ready?”

“This is wrong,” Sera grumbled. “Mirrors should be mirrors.”

“Let’s do this, Boss,” Bull said, adjusting the scabbard of his greatsword ever so slightly.

So, skirting the drying puddle of blood, I stepped through the eluvian.


	6. Crossroads / Elven Ruins

A formless tingle like walking through a curtain comprised of energy and I was on the other side. This eluvian disembarked at the top of a short flight of stairs. I half-stumbled down a few as my senses tried to adjust to the not-world of the Crossroads. It somehow managed to be simultaneously greyly dull and overly bright, rather like sunlight glaring through thick fog. Almost immediately I could feel a headache trying to come on and my left hand was beginning to itch.

The others came directly after me. Dorian and Bull both appeared to have the same reaction I did, but Sera bounced down the steps, looking quite comfortable as she surveyed the scene before us.

“This is the Crossroads,” I told them. “Morrigan brought me here once, showing me the eluvians. Although it seems to me it had substantially fewer drop-offs that time.”

“It’s pretty, I guess,” Sera said cautiously. “Kind of…stretchy. Ugh. Too many colours.”

“Everything looks grey and murky to me,” Dorian said. 

“But there’s patterns all over,” Sera protested. “It’s like glass from wherezit. Serault. Isn’t it?”

“I wonder if it somehow looks different to elves,” I mused aloud.

“How would that work?” Sera demanded. “Eyes are eyes. Or supposed to be. Augh! Stupid place.”

Poor Sera. She seems to take personal offense to things that don’t fit into her view of how the world should work. That includes most things related to magic, the Fade, spirits and gods and pretty much everything we’d dealt with over the last few years. In the early days of the Inquisition she’d been distrustful and rather afraid of both me and Dorian because we’re mages.* Since then she’s decided that the two of us are okay, but I don’t know that her view of other mages has changed substantially. She can be exasperatingly stubborn at times. 

* * *

* My 'inner circle' also included Vivienne and the elven mage Solas, but I don’t really count them when it comes to Sera. She and Vivienne are just too different to ever be more than nodding acquaintances.**  Solas she dismissed early on as one of those oh-so-serious _elfy_ elves she can’t abide, so once again they were never destined to become great friends.  
** Although, even though she knows better than to say anything of the sort to me, I suspect Sera approves of Viv’s traditional approach to the whole mage thing.

* * *

I could see another eluvian not too far away. Hoping that was our goal, I set out toward it. The less time spent hanging around the Crossroads, the better; it seemed to be doing unpleasant things to me. My left hand now felt like there were bugs crawling all over it. Bugs with pincers.

The others fell in behind me, though Sera somehow pulled effortlessly ahead of us all. “This is him,” she called back to us.

A moment later I saw what she was talking about. “The blood trail leads to this mirror,” I confirmed. Sera was bouncing impatiently from foot to foot as we caught up to her at the new eluvian.

“Right,” Bull growled, “Let’s see where this guy came from.”

I shook my hand, trying to rid it of that crawling feeling, and it spit green sparks. Bull had already gone through the mirror and Sera was following, but I saw that Dorian had noticed. He gave me a questioning look. I shrugged and made a face: _I don’t know what’s going on with it, but it’s not good._ He frowned and nodded: _Understood._ And then we stepped out of the Crossroads and into…

"Elven ruins," I commented out loud. "I'm not sure we're even in Orlais anymore." The eluvian had let out in a corridor of what felt like a good-sized building. How did I know it was elven? The architecture. The elves built using a very distinctive style of arch and- I should probably stop there. There are entire books devoted to ancient elven architecture if you wish to know more about it. The important part is, we could see that the corridor led outside, and that it had been used recently as there were lit torches in sconces about halfway along.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," Bull enthused. "The old team together again to kick some ass!"

"There's no throwing, right?" Sera said suspiciously.

"It was _one time_ ," Bull protested.

We climbed a flight of steps and there on the landing was what looked at first glance to be an abandoned stack of armor. It turned out to be another dead Qunari. "Dressed like the one in the Winter Palace," I told the others.

Bull stepped up beside me for a closer look. "He's Karashok; a foot soldier. Must have been in the same squad."

We followed the stairs the rest of the way up and through an open archway. I paused, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the sudden glare of sunlight. We were on a spacious terrace that appeared to wrap all the way around the building, affording a spectacular view of wherever-we-were. Many of the walls were covered with vines, but given this was an elven construction, that was probably deliberate. We made a slow circuit of the terrace.

"Looking through ruins and dead people," Sera said. "Why do I keep coming back for trips like this?"

"I'd guess the sparkling company," Dorian replied, "And your continued contribution to it. I could be wrong."

"Ugh," Sera retorted eloquently.

"Any idea where we are?" I asked.

"Not a clue, Boss," Bull said.

The building we were in seemed to be some sort of old fortress. We were atop one of the foothills surrounding a deep valley. I could see two other fortresses rather like ours some distance away on other hills. In the bottom of the valley was a lake with a small island in the centre, on which was a grander fortress. There was nothing else of note on the terrace but another long flight of stairs leading down to another eluvian.

On the landing in front of it were stone statues of Qunari in uncannily realistic battle poses that, given the context they were appearing in, had probably been Qunari in battle not long ago and "Scorch marks everywhere," I waved my hand at them. "This is the work of a mage."

"A powerful one," Dorian added. "I can still feel the heat cracking."

"We need to find out why these Qunari were here and who did this to them," I said.

I can't be one hundred percent positive, but I'm fairly sure I heard Sera mutter, "Duh." under her breath.

I stepped through the new eluvian.

This one disembarked on a bridge that led to the lake fortress. Unfortunately, it was missing a span. I trotted down to the end where there was some sort of mechanism that most likely controlled the whereabouts of the missing span, because across the gap in the fortress proper I could see Qunari.

"If we want to know why they're here, we've got to get across to that island," I said mostly to myself as I examined the mechanism. It looked like a broken statue atop a pedestal.

"It's missing bits," Sera said behind me. I nodded.

"Well, they're going back and forth somehow," Dorian pointed out, "So logically the missing part or parts must be secreted away somewhere."

"Like through the eluvian down that staircase leading off to the side?" I suggested.

"It _is_ conveniently placed," Dorian agreed.

"Then let's have a look," Bull said, already heading there.

This time we came out on another stairway landing leading up to another terrace, presumably on one of the other fortresses we'd seen. There was smoke rising from somewhere nearby, giving the air a harsh quality. My left hand had another ghastly spasm of bugs-with-pincers as we climbed the stairs. I clenched it and tried to will it back to quiescence.

There was someone at the top of the stairs, but they weren't Qunari. They weren't even technically alive, though that made them no less dangerous. They were purple-tinted, semi-translucent figures carrying very large weapons: guardian spirits. I wondered if it was the Qunari or someone else that had awakened them.

"The elves bound a spirit here," Dorian sounded fascinated. "It feels… old. Very old."

"What does it want," I wondered aloud.

The spirit said something in Elvish, and something within me listened and recognized the words.* 

* * *

*I'm not being poetic here.  The something is - was? - called the Well of Sorrows. It's…the collective knowledge and will of many, many ancient elven priests. At one point a few years ago I - how do I even explain this - I drank them because we needed their power to beat Corypheus. Apparently this also put me under a geas to serve the will of an elven god; I'm hoping there's nothing she can really use me for. So far I haven't felt any otherworldly compulsions. Anyway, for the most part the former Well and I don't  have much to do with each other; there's so little we possess as a common frame of reference that communication is difficult at best. Added to that, they really don't have much interest in - as Sera would say - _non-elfy_   things, and they're really not much use for anything else. Sure as shit didn't help me grow my arm back or give me some ancient elven spell that would.

* * *

"I think I know what to say," I told the others. I repeated what the voices of the Well were telling me to say. The spirit guardian replied and walked away.

"Right, _that_ wasn't weird; normal as anything," Sera said.

"It was part of a ritual," I explained. "A secret greeting from those Fen'Harel trusted." _And there's something not quite right about that, historically speaking…_ Out loud I wondered, "If Mythal's Well of Sorrows knew this, were they close? Friends or- I'm not sure…"

No one seemed to have any thoughts on the subject. As with the first tower, we started to make a circuit just in case. This time there was something of interest around the first corner: a massive door/archway with a large green-glowing bas relief. It was elven, no doubt, with the central figures depicting a tree, and above that a wolf's head. My hand was tingling like mad now, so I raised it and let it discharge at the bas relief like it seemed to want. Not entirely to my surprise, the entire thing melted away to reveal a chamber with yet another eluvian. At the same time it imparted a little jolt of elven history in the form of some kind of welcome that must have played for people who were able to open it. "That was like veilfire," I told the others. "It claimed this was a refuge for elven slaves."

"Slaves. Of other elves? The _old_ elves?" Sera said. "Pissers."

"This whole valley was a sanctuary created by the dread wolf, Fen'Harel," I continued. 

"Fen'Harel?" Dorian said wonderingly. "The Dalish god of misfortune?"

"One and the same." I gestured at the new eluvian. "Shall we?"

"May as well," Dorian shrugged. "Your guardian spirits have proven to have no facility whatsoever for the art of polite conversation."

We stepped through.

The new fortress seemed worse for the wear than the others. The eluvian had opened on the landing of another terrace. In front of us, the staircase that may once have been there was gone, sheared off at the top. It did afford a spectacular view, though.

Dorian stepped up beside me and gestured expansively. "Here we go again! What a change of pace from the Winter Palace! A clear sky, a beautiful view and yes! Fields and fields of stripweed as far as the eye can see."

"Stripweed?" Bull said.

"Terrible stuff. Looks like grass, stings like a knife and causes sores if you so much as brush against it," Dorian elaborated. "So, of _course_ everyone in Minrathous insists it makes a very decent tea."  

"So maybe we're in Tevinter?" I ventured.

"If so, it's not any part of Tevinter that I've seen," Dorian replied.

The staircase to our left was blocked by a fall of masonry. That left the right-hand one, so we started climbing.

Three flights and a few turns later we emerged on yet another large terrace being watched over by a few more spirit guardians. Word must have spread between them that we were friendlies, because all these did was greet us then lose interest.

There were also three dead Qunari strewn about. Bull crouched down to study the closest one. "Cuts all over the back. He was killed by surprise."

"Surprise? Looks more like a sort of axe to me," Sera deadpanned.

"This can't have happened too long ago," I observed. "The blood's not even dry."

"So what's behind the green door?" Dorian asked, indicating the twin to the bas-reliefed wolf-door of the last fortress.

I walked over and fired the Anchor at it and like the other, it melted away, providing me with another trivia packet as it did so.  It also felt like someone had fired an electricity spell into my left hand while it was being bitten by an angry rodent; all the elven magic seemed to be exacerbating things.

I tried to ignore it as I told the others, "This is Fen'Harel helping former slaves as a mortal, not a god."

"Kinda curious that this guy had to specify that he wasn't a god," Bull said.

"But Fenny helping is...bonkers," Sera objected.

"Fen'Harel sounds like quite the rebel. The old elven gods must have simply loved that." That was Dorian, of course.

This time the door had opened onto a stairway leading down deeper into the fortress. As we descended it became increasingly dark; there were torches in sconces at intervals along the walls, but none were lit.  

"This is creepy," Bull muttered.

"Shall I give us some light?" Dorian inquired.

"No need; we're here," I said.

The corridor we'd been walking down ended with another of the ubiquitous green doors and against the wall across from it, one dead Qunari who clearly hadn't managed to open it. _Shit. I bet this is going to hurt._ I let the Anchor do its thing, the door melted away informatively, and yes, it fucking hurt. Enough that I couldn't quite stop a yelp of pain this time.

We were looking into a large chamber. Around the perimeter were some of the stone archer statues ancient elven architects seem so fond of and two squat pillars whose function I couldn't make out. The centre was sunken a few steps, with a dark circle of some sort of metal or stone surrounding a dais with a taller, slimmer object in the centre of it. Above the dais hung a construct that looked like a large, stylized, upside-down tree. The 'trunk' attached to the ceiling and the 'branches' formed a loose circle hanging down. These were flashing bolts of green light between themselves at irregular intervals.

"This claims the elven gods were just Evanuris: powerful but completely mortal mages," I continued in my role as tour guide.

"Whoever ran this place was trying to build the slaves' confidence; get rid of old propaganda," Bull theorized.

I expanded on his thought. "If that's true, Fen'Harel was teaching these freed slaves the truth about false gods." 

We walked cautiously into the chamber. The light flashes coming from the tree-chandelier seemed to be strengthening.

As if in sympathy, that too-familiar tingling in my hand started crawling up my arm. I could feel actual pressure as whatever energy the Anchor channeled began building beyond my capacity to handle it. I cursed, the others looked at me with varying degrees of alarm, and my hand spit out a flash of green/blue fire then _continued_ sparking for a few more seconds.

"Are you hurt?" Dorian asked.

"It felt like the Anchor stung me," I understated. I could already feel pressure seeping back in; at least I could try to control it. This time I willed it to discharge and the resulting surge lit up the whole room. In fact, it _stayed_ lit for a good half a minute. Useful for a non-mage in a dark place, but both Dorian and I were already capable of making a perfectly good, stable light. Still - "You might as well let me take care of lighting duties in here," I frowned. "Whatever that thing is, it seems to have made the Anchor positively giddy with the desire to show off. I get the feeling just _letting_ it fire when the energy builds up too much won't end well."

"It'll stop being all ' _ooooh, look at meeee'_ when we leave this room, though, won't it?" Sera asked almost plaintively.

I punched at the air and let the Anchor discharge another minute of light. "We hope so," Dorian answered for me.

"Then we should get out of here. Sooner." Sera declared.

I approached the dais in the center of the room and studied the object it was displaying. "This looks like it fits that pedestal in the broken bridge." I picked it up.

"Are you _mad_?" Sera yelped.

"She's got a point, Kai," Dorian said, sounding a bit angry. "Ancient ruins and the like _do_ have a reputation for visiting all manner of gruesome punishments on interlopers who walk in and _take_ things from their inner sanctums, you know."

"Well…nothing happened," I said, feeling more than a little stupid. "Maybe knowing the secret password to call off the guardians made it okay."

"Still not something you should count on, Boss," Bull chimed in. “Y’know, what with the metal tree with the green lightning hanging right above you.”

I punched another light blast. "Sorry. It was stupid. I just…wasn't thinking."

Dorian smacked me solidly on the back of the head. "Just don't do it again. You scared the shit out of us."

"Can we please just _leave_ ," Sera entreated.

"Yeah, before all these statues come to life," Bull said.

"They're _not_." Sera sneered as she tried to look at all them simultaneously.

I choked back a laugh. "Well. let's not stick around to find out. I have it on Varric's authority that walking statues are no fun at all." 

I set off for the exit. Sera glared at Bull, pronounced, "Arse," and jogged ahead of us into the daylight.


	7. The Best-Laid Plan

We retraced our steps to the lake bridge without incident. The Anchor had calmed down a bit since we left the chamber, but it wasn't back to what had been passing for normal. I could feel the energy building; it started as a heavy feeling in my palm where the mark was centred, then began radiating out and up my forearm. Very odd sensation to describe, which is why I keep likening it to bugs and biting rodents. Most of the time it felt…crawly. Like _things_ with legs and pincers were running up and down _inside_ my hand and arm. Until it bit; then it felt like - Andraste's balls, this is difficult - if you enchanted a bunch of vicious rats whose every bite also imparted an electrical shock, it would probably feel like what was happening when the Anchor got nasty. Ghastly feeling.

I went to the pedestal at the end of the bridge and saw clearly how the piece we'd gotten from the chamber fit into the mechanism. I slid it home and sure enough, with a heavy rumbling the missing span slid up and smoothly into place.

I turned to the others. "Shall we pay the Qunari a visit?" 

"It would be unseemly not to," Dorian replied.

"Enough history lessons; let's just kick some ass," Bull opined.

"With _arrows_ ," Sera added.

We crossed the bridge and of course there was a squad of Qunari waiting for us; that missing span rumbling into place must have tipped them off. Also of course, rather than try to negotiate or even find out if there was a reason for us to be fighting, they attacked on sight (if you're interested, their exact words were, "Vashedan! The Inquisition doesn't leave alive!" so it certainly wasn't a case of mistaken identity).

At this point the four of us had fought together so much that we fell into our roles without any need to discuss strategy. Dorian and I had developed a rather comfortable routine of trading off between offensive and defensive spells with each other while Sera plugged arrows into every vulnerable enemy body part that presented itself. Bull charged directly into the fray, hacking into enemies with precision even though it looked utterly random. Additionally, we all had grenades. We had learned over time how to use those for maximum effect.* 

* * *

***** I know people who are partial to pitch grenades, or fire or what have you, but my little squad are all avowed fans of bees. I don't know how exactly they manage it, but we have artificers who are able to fill grenades with some sort of blood lotus extract and a crap-ton of bees. I take it the blood lotus keeps them fed, and being stuffed in a grenade keeps them angry. What keeps them alive? No idea. What's undeniable is when you lob a swarm of pissed-off bees at someone, they suddenly aren't so worried about fighting. We've won battles against enemies that _far_ outclassed us simply by strategically nailing them with bee grenades then retreating a safe distance and _waiting_. Getting to watch your big, scary enemies suddenly running about in a flailing panic is just a lovely bonus.

* * *

The battle itself I'd call unremarkable. It was a slog because they were all big bastards who could both take and mete out a lot of damage, but frankly, we'd dealt with worse (and I should probably be worried that I've become that blasé about an encounter that would terrify most people). That said, it wasn't without its perks.

I mentioned previously that the elven magic seemed to be exciting the Anchor to new levels of obnoxiousness, but for once it did something beneficial. It was building up energy more and more rapidly, meaning I was having to discharge it more frequently. It might have been useful for blinding the enemy if we'd been fighting in the dark, but as it was it was just a nuisance when I was trying to cast spells and keep track of who was attempting to kill who. Sera first noticed it: A moment after I'd discharged the Anchor she let out a whoop from somewhere just behind us. 

"Take _that_ , you tit!" An arrow screamed past us and embedded itself in the throat of a Qunari archer. "Ate your own arrow!" Sera crowed. "Hey Kai!" 

I took advantage of the momentary lull in the fight to look back at her. "What?"

"Do your hand-thingy again! Last time you did _that_ twat's arrow bounced off before it even got close to me!"

"Really?" I looked down at my hand as if it would confirm. It was glowing disconcertingly.

"You know, she's right," Dorian fired an ice spell at a still-twitching Qunari. It stopped twitching. In fact, the archer had been the last of the Qunari squad, and there didn't appear to be reinforcements on the way. "I just didn't make the connection."

"We were a bit busy," I pointed out.

"True. But every time you discharged the Anchor it seemed as though nothing could get through to me. I think it's generating some form of extra barrier every time. Short-lived, but bloody useful."

"Don't you mean-" I discharged the Anchor in a flash of green. "- handy?"

Dorian raised one finely-shaped eyebrow. " _Really_ , Kai? Was that truly necessary?"

"Say what?" Bull came striding up, spattered with gore and looking cheerful as all get out. "Why's everyone just standing around?"

"Inquisitor's telling bad puns and making everyone listen," Sera told him.

"One," I protested. And to Dorian, "Don't tell me you've never thought of that one."

"I simply had the good taste never to say it," he replied sweetly.

I pointedly turned to Bull. "The Anchor's apparently decided to do something useful for once." I told him what we'd discovered.

"Hunh. Good timing." He gestured at the open doorway to the building. "Looks like there's more right through there to try it out on."

"And of course we're going to have to fight our way through all of them in order to find the information we need," Dorian finished.

"Don't we always?" I discharged the Anchor towards the doorway, yelping involuntarily as I did. They all looked slightly alarmed. "Sorry. It does this sort of…shocky, bitey thing whenever I have to discharge it."

"That's one of the reasons I love him so," Dorian said lightly. "His incredible facility and sophisticated expressiveness with language."

"Grammar snob," I shot back.

Sera snickered. "So are we gonna take out these Qunari wank-butts or what?" she demanded.

"Yeah, let's not keep them waiting," Bull seconded.

We entered the building. There were indeed Qunari warriors all over the place. Interestingly, they were already engaged fighting spirit guardians. This didn't stop them from attacking us too, but as the guardians weren't hostile to us, it definitely worked in our favour. I'm not going to go into detail about the running battle through the place, because it was rather routine. Cast offensive spell, cast defensive spell, discharge Anchor, maybe down a potion, repeat. If a good opportunity to throw angry bees on someone presents itself, do so.

As soon as the Qunari were eliminated, the spirit guardians went back to ignoring us. "Why did those Qunari attack 'The Inquisition' on sight?" I wondered aloud.

"No idea. They weren't Tal-Vashoth, though," Bull replied. "This might be a rogue group, but they _think_ they're following the Qun."

"Might be," I mused, "or might not. Are you saying it's possible the entire Qunari nation wants us dead?" 

"Well! At last the Inquisition and Tevinter have something in common," Dorian said cheerfully.

Bull ignored him. "I don't know, Boss. I wish I did."

The building we were in was basically one massive chamber. The area where we'd entered had been turned into a barracks by the Qunari and was filled with bunks, gear and the trappings of day-to-day living. From there a stairway led down to a central area surrounded by balconies - presumably for an audience. Two staircases on either side of a central podium went back up at the far end, and that's what we climbed now. At the top, where the podium would overlook the audience, was a squat obelisk with writing on it (" _the Dread Wolf keeps its gaze on the one light that illuminates the way forward_ "). The dread wolf in question was undoubtedly the large stone wolf statue that dominated the center of this end of the building. It was gazing off to its right. Between its front paws was a stone box, in front of which was a switch. 

The walls of this end were covered with murals. Most prominent among them was one where, "That's Fen'Harel. Removing a Dalish elf's valaslin*?" I pointed at the mural that had caught my attention.

"Not Dalish," Sera corrected. "They weren't Dalish yet. Right?"

"Maybe the markings used to have a different meaning?" I theorized as I walked over to a wall mounting I was familiar with. Out of the several placed around the perimeter of the room, it was the one the wolf seemed to be staring at, so I shot a bit of magical energy at it which activated its veilfire, then jogged over to the statue and pressed the switch. A moment later, having "seen" the veilfire, the wolf statue's eyes glowed green and the entire statue moved to one side to reveal steps leading down into a chamber beneath. Really, as puzzles went it wasn't much of a challenge. The stone box also opened, revealing a rather nice bow. It wasn't as good as Sera's, but we took it anyway. If nothing else, we'd be able to get some good coin for it. 

* * *

***** Valaslin are the facial tattoos that all adult Dalish have.

* * *

"What's this," I mumbled rhetorically as we descended. To no one's surprise at this point, the stairs ended at another of those bas-reliefed not-doors. With a purely internal sigh, I fired the Anchor at it and got my latest history lesson along with another jolt of electric rat bites.

The chamber turned out to be full of "Hidden weapons," I said. "These freed slaves actually fought back against the Evanuris posing as gods. The valaslin originally marked them as slaves; Fen'Harel removed them."

"Interesting word, 'Evanuris'," Dorian said. "If all it means is 'mage leader', well, they were basically Magisters."

"The Dalish. Are going. To shit themselves," Sera said with a certain amount of glee.

The chamber ended in another stairway leading down to a hallway and what appeared to be a larger complex. We passed a barred-off room on our right, as the hallway opened into two arches. The arch to the left led to a set of closed double doors. The one in front of us opened on a large chamber with some sort of island in the middle and at the back, a raised area fronted by a low railing. At the back of this area was an eluvian. And in front of the eluvian - _all together now_ \- more Qunari. 

We took care of them fairly easily, all things considered, then searched the bodies. No, not for ghoulish reasons (though if they had any coin on them they were clearly no longer in need of, I freely admit to relieving them of it), but because, being good little soldiers of the Qun, there was every chance they'd have some kind of orders written down. We hit paydirt with the one Bull said was their commander:

_I have read your reports. Station your people in the abandoned elven towers by the lake. It is a short distance from its entrance to the mirror that connects to Halamshiral. We will need the space to lodge our people after the infiltration is complete._

At the bottom was a map of the Crossroads with an arrow pointing from the elven ruins' eluvian to the one leading to the Winter Palace. "This letter says the Qunari came to these ruins because the eluvians connect to Halamshiral," I summarized. "It was _some_ sort of infiltration. There's no more details. Let's look for anything that explains why the Qunari came here before we go."

"Yeah, this is crazy. They're acting like we're at war," said Bull.

We found a half-finished note on a writing desk in the barracks section of the armory outlining how an unknown mage had blown through the area not long ago. The mage was the one who had awakened the guardian spirits and turned them against the Qunari before taking his or her leave. This didn't necessarily mean the mage would be friendly to us, but they were clearly against the Qunari, so for the time being that made the mage an ally of sorts. Regardless, we needed to get back and warn people that the Qunari had some sort of designs on the Winter Palace at the very least.


	8. Halamshiral - Checking In

One of Leliana's people was stationed at the eluvian waiting for us when we got back. As she went to alert my advisors, the four of us went our separate ways to remove armor and make at least a cursory attempt at getting cleaned up. That accomplished, I went directly to our makeshift war room to get Leliana, Cullen and Josephine up to speed.

"One dead Qunari was bad enough," Cullen said. "Now we have more. And they're hostile."

"This makes no sense." Josie was gazing at her portable tablet as if just staring at it long enough would give her all the answers. "The Qunari may not be friendly to the Inquisition, but they have no reason to attack us."

"They also have no reason to be _here_ ," Leliana pointed out. "Or using the eluvians at all."

"I've had the mirror placed under guard for now," Cullen said.

"It appears that the relative peace and quiet of the last two years is coming to an end," I said more or less for the sake of saying something. 

"First the Blight, then mages and templars, then Corypheus and now _this_. Can't we go ten years without the world falling to pieces?" Cullen demanded.

"We must ensure the Qunari do not disrupt the negotiations," Josie said. "The Exalted Council is in a very delicate state."

"I'm certain you can soothe the nobles' ruffled feathers while we solve the _real_ problem," Cullen replied irritably (and much more diplomatically than what I was thinking).

 _"Not_ when the Inquisitor _insults_ everyone present by walking out in the middle of the talks," Josephine complained. She turned her attention to me. "Our only advantage is that Orlais and Fereldan are divided in goal and grievance. If they fight against us, Divine Victoria will have no choice but to support their claims. We could lose _everything._ "

Something I was caring less and less about with every passing moment. "Be that as it may, the Qunari must be our top priority," I told her a little crossly. "We can worry about the politics later."

"My apologies," Josephine sighed, then clearly steeled herself. "I will attend to the Exalted Council."

"And while Josie does that, we will investigate," Leliana added.

"I'll head back to the Crossroads," I said. "We need to find out what the Qunari are doing and why they attacked."

"And I'll have a quiet word with our honor guard," I heard Cullen saying as I left the room.

There were a few things I wanted to do before diving back into the Crossroads. For one thing, my hand and arm had settled down considerably since we'd returned to the 'real' world and I wasn't looking forward to the effect eluvian-world had on them. I also wanted to do practical things like eat. As I walked across the main plaza I heard snatches of conversation, many of which suggested that the general consensus was not that the Inquisition was handling something unexpected so much as we were probably the cause of it. Sometimes I really hate people.

With refueling in mind, I went first to the Gilded Horn. Sera was perched at her usual spot -- _on_ the far end of the long table -- so I ordered my food then went to see how she was doing.

"Hallo and _shhh!_ " she greeted me. "I'm trying to figure out why everyone is acting so weird. I mean, besides Qunari assassins and…everything. You see it, right? There's something going with the elf servants. Makes sense after that ruin, right?"

"When you start going on about elves, it's hard to tell if it's about them or you," I equivocated.

"Yes, yes, you're ever-so-clever." She rolled her eyes. "Arse. Point is, the servants have no complaints. No asking for a Jenny. They serve this lot, but don't want them done for anything."

"So…the nobles are nice and the servants are happy," I said skeptically.

"Two things that have never been true. Mark that I said it. We're fighting the Qunari, but something else is on the up."

"Consider it marked," I told her as my food and coffee arrived. I sat down and she slid down to perch on the bench across from me. I waved in the direction of my plate. "Want anything?"

"Nah, I ate while you were in your big meeting. I really mean it about the elves, you know."

I nodded. "And I'm taking it seriously. I just don't know that there's anything we can do with it at the moment but keep an eye on things." I ate a bit and changed the subject. "It's been a couple of years. How's everything sitting with you?"

"It's weird meeting back up and seeing everyone get their gray. First time I've been anywhere long enough to get fond of things. Cassandra is staying herself - so far. Hopefully. She needs someone to watch out for her, so I kind of do."

That came as a surprise to me. 

"All that blood and thunder just so that everyone can live well in our once-around," Sera mused. "Good lesson, I suppose. If there had to be one."

I set my coffee cup down and watched a flurry of green tendrils dash from my hand up my forearm. Shit. Just when I'd been thinking it had calmed down. I shook my hand -- as if that was going to accomplish anything -- and sighed. "Damn thing's getting worse."

"I noticed," Sera said in that oddly distant tone she gets when she's talking about something that makes her uncomfortable.

"I suppose you have a lot to say about that elven ruin; about the creators," I changed the subject again.

"They're not even demons. Just big magey nobs punching down," she said, brightening at once. "And yes, the shits who use them to make me feel broken can still eat it. But…always waiting for that fight is way too much work. It's like doing half the hurt _for_ them. Maybe we're old now, but I'm tired of it. We've new fights to look forward to. We always do, seems like. Are you gonna eat that pickle?"

"Go ahead. I don't even like them."

She took the pickle and bit into it. "Then why'd you ask for it?"

"I didn't. They just put it on the plate."

"That's stupid. What if there was no one around you could give it to? You can't even give it to a dog, because dogs don't like pickles. You'd waste a perfectly good pickle."

I raised my cup to her in a salute. "I bow before your superior wisdom, Sera. Fortunately you _were_ here to rescue it."

"Oh, you," she snorted. "Now you're just being silly." She stood up, saying, "Need something to wash this down with or I'll smell all pickley," and headed off to the bar.

I saw a notebook someone had left on the table and began leafing through it while I finished my meal (I'm something of a compulsive reader; always have been). It didn't take long to realize it was Sera's…diary is far too formal. Lists of thoughts she has would be more accurate. I probably should have stopped the moment it dawned on me, but to be honest I didn't really think about it. There were impressions she'd had when she first got back ( _Everyone looks old and tired and fat_ ), including a remark about the fact that my left hand looked bad - and this was _before_ the Crossroads et al had sent it to new levels of awful. Wonderful. Plus:

Notes making it clear that her relationship with Dagna ( _pet name Widdle?_ ) was going well;  
Observations on some of the other members of our inner circle:  
_Rainier hugs harder than Blackwall. Still beardy._  
_Cassandra needs to punch something or she'll explode._  
_Leliana knows something. Knew it, Inquisition is in trouble._  
Notes on the oddness of the elves that she'd just told me about;  
Some drawings that showed real talent;  
A comment about Dorian leaving again ( _Didn't cry. That's what he wants._ ) and-

"Hey!" someone smacked me in the back of the head. Oops. Sera. "Do you always read anything that's in front of you?"

"Actually, yes," I told her truthfully. "Sorry. There was nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I know _that_ , you tit." She set her drink on the table and retrieved her notebook. "Still doesn't mean you're supposed to read it."

"If I ever write a diary I'll let you read it," I offered. She rolled her eyes at me. "Do I really get to choose my city?"

"See, you weren't supposed to know that," she protested. "Now there's no surprise."

"At least now I know I wasn't the only one who drank too much when I joined the Jennys," I said.

"Dunno _how_ you went off and played Inquisitor after that." She grinned, then broke into a full-out laugh. "Did you see me kill Maryden's lute?"

"I didn't see it, but I certainly heard it." I laughed as well.

"I've been wanting to do that _forever._ Teach her to write creepy songs about me."

I downed the rest of my now-lukewarm coffee. "Unfortunately, if we're going to get back to the Crossroads before the Qunari finish whatever they're up to, we'd better get ready to head out. You up for another adventure?"

"Sure…" she said, sounding markedly unenthused.

"Oh, come on. If I can put up with electric bugs eating my arm you can put up with finding out people wrote history down wrong."

She wrinkled her nose. "Electric bugs?"

I shrugged. "That's what it feels like. It's worst when it discharges. Hurts now; never used to."

She shuddered. "All right, you win. I'm there all the way. Just lemme go get some more arrows. There's lots of things there that need arrows in them." 

"Thank you, Sera."

"Yeah, sure," she said as she turned to leave. "But you _do_ play dirty."

I stood up and stretched. This day already felt like it had gone on far longer than it had any right to. Iron Bull and Krem had come into the pub while I was talking to Sera and seated themselves at the bar.

As I walked over, Bull was saying, "Wish I hadn't burned all my contacts with the Ben-Hassrath. Be nice to have some idea what they're doing right now."

"Yeah, but then you'd be on _their_ side, Chief," Krem pointed out.

"Yes, but I'd _know_ things," Bull complained. "I like knowing things."

"Don't we all," I said by way of greeting. "That's why we're going back to the Crossroads. Hey, Krem."

Krem nodded hello as Bull said, "Damn. Already? You good if I sit this trip out, Boss? Leliana wants to grill me in hopes there's something we missed."

"I'm sure we can muddle through somehow," I assured him. "I'll let you know what happened when we get back."

"Make sure and take notes," Krem added. "Otherwise the Chief'll look all sad when you can't describe things down to the last detail."

"Hmm…" Bull eyed Krem speculatively. "Don't I recall saying you were due for some extra training sessions?"

With a wave, I left them to it. The Qunari weren't waiting around for us to feel like going after them again.

I went to my not-quite-quarters to change back into my armor. Leliana had left a note on my desk reading, _We have contained news of the Qunari corpse found in the West Plaza. A few servants saw the blood stains, but we quickly spread misinformation about infighting between Orlesian nobles. So far as palace rumor is concerned, whoever was hurt or killed was a casualty of the Game, not an outside player._

At least damage control was working so far. How long that would last was another question. I pulled on my metal-reinforced overshirt then spent a few extra minutes renewing the hardening spells on my leather coat (though with the amount of time I've spent adding spells to that coat, it could probably withstand a point-blank shot from a Qunari _gaatlok_ cannon at this point. That armor failure years ago made me a wee bit obsessive about it.).

That done, I set out to find a third member for our little party; preferably someone whose fighting style, like Bull's, mainly involved hitting things really hard with large bladed weapons. I ran across Blackwall - excuse me, Rainier - first. He was back in what I take to be his favourite spot by the straw targets doing more maintenance on his weapon, as luck would have it. He looked up at my approach and said, "Need me for anything?"

"How would you like to participate in an exciting journey through several eluvians? As an extra bonus, you may even get to join in actual battles with actual Qunari." I gave him a salesman's smile.

“Well, paint me pink and call me a nug, sounds like just the thing for me and the missus.” He stood up and sheathed the greatsword. “How many are going to accompany us on this grand tour?”

“Just Sera and Dorian. We’re still trying to keep things as low-key as possible. We’re not sure how badly time is of the essence, but we need to get back into eluvian-land before a Qunari army or some other damned thing overruns us.”

He nodded, then paused. “ ‘Eluvian-land’?”

I shrugged. “Had to call it something, and maker knows where most of them actually lead to.”

“Fair enough.” He started walking and I fell in beside him. “Just need to get my gear, then. I thought you wanted Iron Bull along for the Qunari angle.”

“Leliana’s picking his brain. He may know something and not even be aware of it, depending on how far back this plot of theirs goes. I need one of you soldier-types to round out the group.”

“What about Cass?”

“I ran into you first. Besides,” I gave him a half-smile, “Sera likes you.”

He chuckled. “I got the chance to have a few drinks with her. Missed that girl.” 

“It’s nice to have everyone back in the same place again,” I said.

He chuckled again. “I have to admit, I missed it. What does it mean when we need a huge diplomatic talk or the world ending just to bring us together?”

“How’s it been for you?” I asked.

“It’s still a little awkward talking to Cassandra, but the Commander appears to have forgiven me. Finally.”

We reached his quarters and stopped near the doorway, “You’re more comfortable being called by your real name now?” I asked. Not just out of curiosity; I still wasn’t entirely sure what to call him, having gotten so used to ‘Blackwall’ over the years.

“Comfortable?” he said musingly. “Not quite yet. I…didn’t want to be Rainier for such a long time. To be quite frank, he was an ass. But he’s- _I’ve_ changed, and reclaiming my name has allowed me to connect with people I haven’t seen in years. Family. It wouldn’t have happened without you.”

“No need to get all maudlin now,” I said lightly. “I’ve got to go hunt down Dorian. Meet us at the eluvian. Oh – they moved it. You know where it is?”

“The doorway they’ve suddenly got two guards parked in front of?”

“Your powers of observation are unparalleled,” I said. He gave a short laugh and disappeared inside his quarters.

It took a bit of searching, but I finally found Dorian sitting by himself in the section of the gardens where his impromptu goodbye party had occurred.

“Quite the party, wasn’t it,” he said. “I hear it left the Orlesians and Fereldens completely aghast. Andraste’s Herald, the Inquisitor, toasting a Tevinter Magister. Not a bad scandal to leave with.”

I snorted. “I know you enjoy the thought, but do you really believe that many were scandalized? You may have only just become a Magister, but it’s been fairly common knowledge for years that the Inquisitor has been – depending on who you talk to – either showering his affections upon or simply banging a certain Tevinter mage who has now risen in his country's ranks. You know how much fuel the gossip mongers have already gotten out of that.”

“Now there you go trying to spoil my pretty picture. Honestly, Kai, I worry about you at times. You’ve got a streak of practicality that can be most annoying.”

“I’ll apologize abjectly later. If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure most of the ones who know about us are Orlesian; the Fereldens were likely largely in the dark about your pre-ambassadorial identity.”

“As long as _someone_ is appropriately scandalized,” he allowed. “Am I to take it from your attire that we’re off to have another delightful encounter with our Qunari friends?”

“I know how much you look forward to these things,” I replied. “Let’s get your gear, shall we?”

“I don’t think Magisters _have_ ‘gear’,” he mused as he stood.

“Well, until you find the appropriate Tevene phrase for it, let’s just pretend it’s called ‘gear’, shall we?”

“There you go being practical again. Next thing you’ll be telling me you build small, useful gadgets by hand in your spare time.”

“Now, there’s no need to be insulting,” I feigned offense. “I think they take away your mage license if you’re caught doing something that utilitarian.”


	9. Deep Roads

A short time later we were gathered in front of the eluvian, now in a secure room with only one guarded entrance. “Everyone sure you have everything? Last chance if you don’t,” I said.

“Yes, mother. We also all went before we left,” Dorian quipped.

“Ha ha. We don’t know where we’re going to end up, so I’d rather not come up short if I can avoid it. Not to mention there’s also some sort of mage out there that can apparently turn living things into stone, and we have no idea if he or she is friendly to us.”

“Doesn't much matter unless we run into them. Let’s get this dog and pony show started,” Rainier said.

“Right. Brace yourself when you walk through, Black- I mean, Rainier. It’s…uncomfortable in the Crossroads.” As he nodded, I stepped through the eluvian.

As if they’d been waiting for their cue, the first thing we saw as we stepped into the Crossroads was a handful of Qunari running up a path that definitely hadn’t been there the last time we came through. It made me wonder again if time was somehow…fluid in that space between worlds.

“That path wasn’t there before,” I said out loud as we started following the path we’d taken before.

“It’s the Qunari, right?” Sera said. “Rocks can’t move themselves.”

“Not in our world, they can’t,” Dorian said, echoing my thoughts.

“Anyone else getting a headache?” asked Rainier.

“Everyone but Sera,” I told him. “The Crossroads is friendly to elves.”

“Which is stupid,” Sera opined.

We reached the first eluvian and turned left, following the new path to a new eluvian. Everything looked virtually the same as the first, with the addition of a large, red egg-shaped object installed on a dais just past where the path disembarked to the larger island the eluvian was on. The outside of the egg – which was nearly as tall as I am – was decorated with metal scrollwork. Rather pretty, really. 

“That-“ Sera started, then paused. “No idea.”

I started to have a look around but Dorian said pointedly, “Let’s see where our horned friends were headed.”

I stepped through the new eluvian.

“Fuck me…” the electric rats were suddenly going mad in my left hand and forearm, which were glowing like some sort of blasted green torch even through the leather and metal of my coat and gauntlet. 

“The Deep Roads,” Dorian said with some surprise.

“What are Qunari doing in the Deep Roads?” Rainier wondered.

“Anyone want to try asking those ones?” Sera fixed an arrow in her bow.

Not far ahead of us was a group of three Qunari who looked as though they were just now realizing we’d popped in behind them. They didn’t look like the types who wanted to chat. I could feel the charge building up in my arm as though it were making up for being held back at the Winter Palace, so I put a little extra effort behind it and slammed my fist down, discharging a truly impressive blast of energy right at the Qunari.

The ox-men were rocked back but recovered quickly. One of them charged toward us and got an arrow in the face for his trouble. Unfortunately it just seemed to piss him off. I threw a wide-area fire spell at them while Dorian lay barrier spells on us and Rainier closed with the lead Qunari. Sera continued doing what she does best, firing her arrows with surgical precision.

We were getting a pretty good rhythm going and had managed to take out the biggest bastard with a nice freeze/shock/greatsword to the throat combo. The second one was looking wobbly and the third one I’d lost track of which probably meant- Before I could finish the thought he was in front of me swinging a bloody great ax point blank into my left side (I repeat – what does the universe have against my left side?!). Suddenly I was glad I’d spent time reinforcing my coat, because rather than bisecting me, all he managed to do was knock me on my ass. I discharged the Anchor at him and followed up with a force spell that sent him flying straight back into Rainier’s sword. The wobbly one suddenly imploded as Dorian’s walking bomb spell went off (much better when they implode – exploding bodies are unspeakably messy) and the silence of the Deep Roads descended once again.

We spent a few minutes assessing our injuries. Fortunately there was nothing serious. My left side ached a little, but that was already going away (got a few good bruises though), Rainier had to down one healing potion to take care of a nasty gash on his cheek, and I managed a weak but serviceable healing spell to take care of a greenstick fracture Dorian had gotten to his right arm. Sera had come through unscathed. A few more minutes to drink water and cast some clean-up spells* and we were virtually good as new. 

* * *

* I’m sure there’s a proper name for them, but most of us just call them clean-up spells. The variety I was taught – and the most common – basically flash-desiccates all blood, sweat and assorted ick on you so it flakes off like dust. The main thing about those spells is they absolutely require training before you dare use them on a living thing. Overshoot and you desiccate the person, not just the ick, which can be really ugly.** Undershoot and instead of happening so quickly you don’t even notice, everything starts to crust over and stick, which can be utterly disgusting. Of course, eventually you need to actually wash, but in a pinch they’re vastly preferable to walking around covered in dried blood, mud and other assorted fluids.  
** And explaining how the spell works to a lay person can result in a reaction of abject horror if you’re not careful; they immediately jump to the conclusion that you can or will suck all the moisture out of them either by accident or in a moment of pique. While that’s theoretically possible, it would take a great deal more time and effort than one puts into a clean-up spell; that’s why even in that empire of all Evil Magey Things, Tevinter, you never hear of an ongoing problem with piles of randomly mummified people.

* * *

"Why'd an elfy mirror dump us in the middle of dwarfy things?" Sera said. "And why do we keep going through them?"

"We need to find out what these Qunari were up to," I shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "I know that. It was wossname. You know - rhetorical."

I smirked back at her. "I know. So let's go see, shall we?"

 We went down a short flight of stairs that ended in a round, half-ruined room that looked to have been set up as a temporary camp; benches had been pulled up around a readied-but-not-lit fire in the middle of the room. We had a look around, but the only thing we could find was a scrap of paper with some sort of mathematical formulae written on it. From the look of the paper ( _bitten?)_ and the blood on the bottom of it, the writer had been _very_ rudely interrupted before he could reach a conclusion.

At the more intact end of the room was a long staircase leading down, presumably the direction we wanted to go. A short way down it turned ninety degrees and opened into a landing before continuing. We all stopped dead. Down past the bottom of the staircase and across a gap were easily upwards of ten Qunari, busy working on…something. They were too far away to completely make out what they were up to, but I could see structures built over multiple surfaces stretching into the distance.

"Look at all that," I said. "The Qunari have a huge operation here."

"A lot of trouble waiting to happen," Rainier predicted.

We started down the next flight. Ahead of us in the distance, we saw a flash of light and a large cloud of dust. A few moments later we heard the explosion that accompanied it. The crashing boom of it sent scattered rocks falling even where we were. 

"Setting off explosions in an underground room. Let no one ever say the Qunari don't live dangerously," Dorian said wryly.

Another shower of rocks fell a short way down from us. "Think we should wait an extra minute?" I said. Everyone seemed to agree. 

As we looked out over the vast cavern peppered with massive plateaus and pillars of rock (and equally mind-numbing drop-offs), Rainier began to speak softly. "You can practically feel it, can't you: all that rock, hanging above your head. Smuggled an unpopular baron out of Orlais once. He insisted we use the Deep Roads so that no one would follow. Ninth day out, we camped at a cabin by a lake. Stunk to high heaven, but I couldn't place the smell. We awoke to a Carta ambush. I shouted orders, grabbed a sword and a lantern. Dwarf fighting me froze in the light. On a hunch, I told my men to run, cut down the dwarf and tossed the lantern into the lake. It exploded into flames. Some sort of oil in the water. Found the surface just in time, because the blaze went for days."

"Was that a bedtime story?" Sera asked. "Try setting a duke's shitter on fire."

"That does somehow sound worse," Rainier conceded.

"Well, it looks like the roof isn't going to fall on our heads. Yet," Dorian said. "Anyone for moving on?"

We all were. At the bottom of the stairway was a broader landing. To our right was a doorway leading into darkness. Ahead was a drop-off leading to certain death. I walked through the doorway and almost immediately the Anchor spat green fire and a bolt of pain traveled from my hand all the way up to my elbow. I yelped and nearly doubled over as the muscles spasmed for a moment.

"The mark is glowing again," Rainier said in what has got to be the understatement of the year.

I don't think he saw the glare I gave him. "Well maybe it can make itself useful down here," I answered sarcastically and let the damned thing discharge again. It did its now-familiar light-up-the-room thing. Obviously it was back to its eluvian-land trick of building up energy at a mad pace. I glanced at the others as I looked around the large chamber we'd wandered into. Rainier looked beardy, Dorian looked worried, and Sera looked a little bit scared. I made an effort to get my tone of voice back to normal. 

"The Qunari were definitely up to something." I gestured to an area where rockfall had completely blocked one of the doorways to the chamber. "Excavating that cave-in maybe." To our left was a clear way farther down. We descended, but slowed as we neared the bottom. There was _something_ moving around down there; we could all hear the click of claws and the occasional hiss.

"As long as it isn't giant bloody spiders," I muttered and let the Anchor do its thing. It wasn't. It was a pack of the subterranean reptiles known as deepstalkers. Not terribly dangerous on their own, but they almost always travel in packs. They're ill-tempered buggers about the size of a large dog. We finished them off in short order.

Just past the landing where we'd encountered the deepstalkers was yet another stairway heading down. Rainier sighed. "Pitch black and full of monsters. Lovely."

I discharged the Anchor and bit back another yip of pain. Maker, this was getting old fast. "I suppose it's far too much to hope the Qunari will just bloody blow themselves up," I commented.

"And make everyone's lives more pleasant? Certainly not," Dorian replied.

The route forward was clear enough: Yet another landing had the choice of atramentous doorway or drop-off to certain death. The series of chambers we entered this time showed more evidence of Qunari activity. There were tools, supplies, and a great deal of scaffolding in various stages of construction.

"Who finds a place like this and digs in?" Sera said. "What are they doing? And how's it gone stupid?"

There were jury-rigged ramps between levels the Qunari had been excavating. We followed a few of them to dead ends and were about to look for a way back out when a glow of firelight caught my eye. We headed towards it and saw it was coming from a good-sized chamber on a level a bit below ours. And moving around in the chamber was someone who looked human. "Someone up ahead," I said quietly. We jumped down into the chamber.

The person turned around. It was a young man, looking rather frightened and holding a sword. Awkwardly. "Stay back!" he said. Then his eyes widened as he noticed, "Wait -- your hand." He stood up straight and dropped the sword. "Are you the Inquisitor?"

"Odd to find a human in the Deep Roads at all, let alone one surrounded by Qunari," I said, not bothering to confirm my identity. Stupid Anchor was glowing like an emergency beacon.

"We don't have much time," he said as he approached me. "Please -- what the Viddasala is doing -- you have to stop her."

"The Viddasala?"

"She's the leader of the Qunari here," he explained. "She _hates_ magic. Her job was to study it and stop it at all costs. Not anymore. I don't _care_ if you serve Fen'Harel or not. Someone has to stop her!"

 _Huh?_   "Why do the Qunari think the Inquisition serves Fen'Harel?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said helpfully. "The Viddasala said it and the Qunari here accept it as fact. We've had agents of Fen'Harel causing trouble all over the Crossroads: sabotage, making spirits attack us. I assumed the Inquisition was their army. That you came here because Fen'Harel told you to."

 _First I've heard of it,_ I thought but didn't say. "Who are you exactly?" I asked him.

"My name is Jerod. _Ser_ Jerod, once. I was a Templar in Kirkwall, until I joined the Qun."

"You're Qunari?"

"Kirkwall was…madness," he said. "Chaos. The Qunari were like the eye of a storm. I stand for order and discipline. Protecting the innocent from magic. But this plan -- it's as mad as Meredith ever was."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "This Viddasala's not doing her job anymore?"

"Almost the complete reversal, actually," Jerod said darkly. "This place is a lyrium mining and processing centre. The Qunari need it for- have you ever heard of Saarebas? It's a mage," he answered himself before any of us could get a word in edgewise, "except Qunari mages are much more dangerous than those among humans or elves. Even as a Templar, I've never seen anything like the power a Saarebas could unleash. And now Viddasala's giving them lyrium. A _lot_ of lyrium. It's part of something she calls 'Dragon's Breath'. There's more to it than that but I couldn't find out what. The Qunari don't like it when you ask too many questions."

"Fancy that," I heard Dorian mutter behind me.

Well, if the guy was going to be that free with information, I figured I might as well mine what I could. "Where are we? Why are there elven mirrors in the Deep Roads?"

"This place is close to…something like a lyrium spring," Jerod explained. "The more we mine, the more there seems to be. As for the mirrors…I don't know. Maybe the elves were mining it too."

"What are _you_ doing down here?" I asked.

He half-shrugged. "The Qunari wanted me to teach them. Everything I knew about lyrium: where it comes from, everything it could do, how we put it to use. I knew enough from my time in the Order. They figured out more. I'm not sure how. Maybe they got to the Carta."

"The Qunari can't be mining their own lyrium," I objected. "It kills anything that tries other than dwarves."

"It killed the Qunari at first," Jerod agreed. "The Qunari workers have a discipline only Tranquil could match. And they're quick learners. They figured it out."

"Why give the Saarebas more power? What do they want them to do?"

"She said it would 'save the south'," he said, hanging his head. "That can only mean one thing:" he looked up at me, "an invasion. This mine is the only source of lyrium the Qunari have. They're using gaatlok -- the explosive powder in the round casks -- to mine, so that they don't have to touch raw lyrium. If you get the primers from central supply, you can prime the gaatlok and detonate it. The mines will go up in flames."

"Even if I succeed, will that really stop the Viddasala?" I said skeptically.

"It will be a start," he offered. "Deepstalkers and cave-ins will cut off reinforcements, but they'll still come when they hear trouble. You've got to find the Viddasala; to end this war before it begins."

"There's no telling how bad things will get when I destroy the mine," I told him. "You'd better get moving."

"I will," he replied. "Good luck, Inquisitor."

"Let's go," I said to the others. "We have a lyrium mine to ruin." We watched Jerod run off in the direction of the exit. 

Once he was definitely gone, Dorian said, "Don't you just love how many people are happy to tell you what you're expected to do to save the world?"

"Obviously having a glowy green hand means you're automatically qualified for world-saving and other heroic deeds," I said, discharging said hand into the middle of the room. "Shite, that hurts."

“Would a healing potion help?” Sera asked.

I shook my head. “Tried it. Tried a healing spell on it once or twice today too. Doesn’t do shit.”

“Bloody hell,” Rainier muttered.

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Well, it’s not going to finish eating my arm today, so we may as well go blow up some mining equipment, eh?”

“I won’t feel bad if we take a few Qunari along with them,” Rainier said.

“ _Lots_ of Qunari,” Sera amended.

“Anyone for _all_ the Qunari?” Dorian took it to its logical conclusion.

We pushed open the heavy doors that led out of the chamber and managed to walk right into a…flock? herd? nuisance? I have no idea what the proper designation for a bunch of deepstalkers is, but we walked right into them. Once everyone got over their initial surprise, the ornery little lizards attacked, so we attacked back, and we are far more lethal. 

We had come out on yet another good-sized balcony, strewn with rubble but with its knee-high stone railing mostly intact (not that that would be much help if you lost your balance too close to the edge). This part of the Deep Roads seemed to be nothing _but_ balconies, stairways and landings, with stomach-churning drop-offs never more than twenty feet away in any direction you cared to pick.

We took a few minutes to clean lizard bits off ourselves.

"Think you boys could use a few less fire spells next time we run into these buggers?" Rainier said as he wiped off his greatsword, "I'm getting a craving for chicken."

Sera was standing at the railing looking out over the vast cavern. "Why are dwarves so short but carve their tunnels so tall?" she mused.

"They choose to show their stature in other ways. Or it's compensation," Rainier said.

"Okay, second obvious reason is funny you answered: _You're_ swinging a giant sword around," she snickered.

"That's not compensation," Rainier said unruffled, "That's a counterweight."

Sera laughed loudly then muttered, "So stupid…"

I walked over to the dark doorway at the end of the balcony and discharged the Anchor; as was usual now, it hurt. Even though I'd expected it to, I still didn't manage to bite back the yelp of pain. At least it got everyone's attention. This time the stairs led up to a good-sized chamber, and from there into a larger cavernous area.

If it weren't for the Anchor, I would have just made a nice mage-light, but the thing hurt less if I kept on top of discharging it, so we walked through the place bathed in uneven green light.

"Dwarfy walls should glow," Sera announced. "That's what makes them dwarfy."

We found a room that looked like it had been used as a storage area/office, before someone had covered the floor with a magical substance that looked like glowing, purple/blue tar. We'd seen the stuff here and there at the fortresses; some careful experimentation had shown that the temporary invulnerability the Anchor bestowed made it possible to cross it, but otherwise it burned mercilessly and stuck to anything it touched. Nasty shit. Dorian found a hastily scrawled note warning people not to go near the stuff. It also said that they _were cast by the agent of Fen'Harel as he ran through this place bringing chaos and destruction…Fen'Harel's mage-servant made them to hamper us…_

"Our mystery mage strikes again," he said as we went back to the main cavern.

"Very flashy, but it's not doing us any good." The constant irritation of the Anchor was getting on my nerves; I was reaching the point where I just wanted to get the damn job done and get out. "Where are these bloody primers supposed to be again?"

"Looks like light over there." Sera pointed at a gap in the wall at the far end. A short hike and a bit of rubble-scaling later, we crossed another balcony and saw another flight of stairs. "Does anyone feel like we've done this before?" Dorian sighed.

"Anyone want to bet on whether it's Qunari or deepstalkers that go after us next?" I asked. There were no takers.

The long flight of stairs led up to a ruined thoroughfare, which was at least a nice change from the endless platforms-with-drop-offs motif that had been the rule thus far. It seemed to be leading in the direction of a large building we could see in the distance -- the solid sort of building where you'd keep primers for your explosives. "I've lived with the Qunari threat all my life," Dorian commented as we walked. "If it escalates, this won't just be Tevinter fighting."

As if on cue, a Qunari spearman came screaming out of the doorway he'd secreted himself behind. I don't know what glory the fool was thinking he'd gain, as all four of us attacking at once turned him into something resembling paste. His two companions showed up a few moments later and didn't fare much better. We continued in the direction of the big building we assumed was our goal.

Dorian fell in beside me, giving me a mournful look. "Cold stone, dark tunnels and surrounded by extremely hostile Qunari. Not the place I would have chosen for a romantic homecoming, amatus."

"Wandering into peril is practically how we met," I replied cheerfully. 

"Oh yes, practically a second honeymoon," he smirked back at me. 

"We'll spend time someplace nicer when we get through this. I promise."

"A promise, is it? Don't think I'll forget." He pretended to think about it and realize something grand. "Halamshiral's guest suites are legendary. I've always wanted to try a wyvern-down bed. Can Josephine arrange something?"

"We'll have to ask," I said. "For all I know, my room in the palace has one."

"Yes, why _aren't_ we using your quarters? I'm sure they're more luxurious."

"And more easily spied on," I pointed out. "They didn't invite us there because they find us irresistibly fascinating and wish to bask in our mere presence."

"Perhaps not the rest of you…" Dorian corrected.

"Of course. Exception noted," I indulged him. "I'm just happy you're back, even temporarily. It was hard being on my own again for so long."

"Well yes, being deprived of me for so long would test anyone," Dorian agreed airily. Needless to say, we were keeping any serious discussions about his imminent departure strictly between the two of us.

"Not only was it dull as dishwater, but you know how bloody cold that suite at Skyhold gets at night," I began.

"I think this is the part where the rest of us suggest you two get a room," Rainier said dryly.

"But that's exactly what we were discussing," Dorian replied, then to me, "By the by, have you ever actually _seen_ dishwater?"

"I must have at some point," I mused. "I'm sure it deserves its reputation."

"You're having us on, right?" Sera interjected. "You're just _trying_ to sound nobby."

We rounded a corner that took us down another stairway. At the bottom was a landing half filled with racks of _gaatlok_ containers, all full and ready for arming. "Too bad we don't already have the primers," I said.

"We're blowing this up, right? Brilliant!" Sera added.

The staircase took a ninety degree turn to the left and continued down to disembark at a long stone bridge. Roaring up the stairway at us was a Qunari. I discharged the Anchor at it as Rainier said, "I wondered where they'd all got to," and swung into action.

More Qunari came pounding down the bridge at us, but we had the high ground. Dorian laid down barrier spells as Sera and I took a moment to favor a few approaching Qunari with bee grenades. In the ensuing panic, one of them ran right into the knee-high barrier on the other side of the bridge, lost his balance and went hurtling over into the abyss, proving my earlier theory about the efficacy of such barriers.

For the next several minutes things got a little hairy; the Qunari didn't have magic, but they did have numbers and sheer size. We were chipping away at them, but the horned bastards were taking a toll on us as well. First the stairs backfired as a platform, at least for Rainier. He was countering the attack of an axe-wielding warrior when he lost his footing and went down heavily. I didn't see if the warrior had anything to do with it, but he didn't get back up. I threw a fireball at the warrior as one of Sera's arrows thunked home into his throat; neither killed him, but they did send him reeling back to regroup.

Dorian jumped into the gap the warrior left, put down a barrier spell and started trying to get Rainier back on his feet. I discharged the Anchor just in time to save myself from a Qunari arrow to the face, but not before I felt another hit my coat and bounce off harmlessly. 

Trying to reach a better vantage point, I ran back up to the landing and spun around to find myself face to face with a Qunari who'd used that blasted rogue stealthing to bypass the others. He gave me an ugly grin, already driving his dagger (which was the size of a bloody short sword) low and hard toward my midsection. Not thinking - I didn't have time to - I swung my left fist up hard in an uppercut so perfect I would never have been able execute it if it'd been planned, discharging the Anchor at the same time. I caught him under the chin and the force of that coupled with the energy blast knocked him off his feet and halfway down the stairs; momentum took him the rest of the way down to the landing. His dagger clattered harmlessly onto the ground where he lay unmoving. 

I stood there breathing hard for a second as the muscles in my left arm spasmed.

"Kai!" I heard Sera's voice behind me. "I'm holding them off; help Dorian!" Below me Rainier was sitting up groggily, but Dorian was face-down on the stairs. Two Qunari were advancing slowly as Sera lay down a steady barrage of arrows, clearly waiting for her to run out. I aimed my staff and hit them with a heavy shock spell as I ran down the stairs, yelling at Rainier to get the fuck up and help. He downed a healing potion and got to his feet, planting himself facing the two Qunari as I reached Dorian and threw a barrier spell on all of us.

Up close, though he was standing firm, Rainier looked pasty white and all but done in - that pesky law of diminishing returns when you've downed too many potions in too short a time.* A slowly leaking wound was matting the hair on the back of Dorian's head with blood ( _that's going to piss him off_ , I thought irrelevantly). And just to make things perfect, Sera shouted, "Out of arrows - deploying bees!" 

Given the two remaining Qunari still looked far too healthy, I figured I'd better use my resurgence spell, which is a kind of _hail Andraste_ thing that uses all your reserves to cast. Essentially it's a kick-ass healing spell. Healing has always been one of my weakest abilities; I just don't channel that type of magic easily regardless of the effort I put into it. The best way to explain it is, for instance, someone who can write prose brilliantly may have virtually no ability to write poetry. They're both writing, but the execution requires a different mental configuration. One of the few positives the Anchor had bestowed was to up the power of all my spells, healing included. Normally I'd never be able to do any kind of effective healing on multiple people, but things were no longer normal. Given that the Anchor, in its enthusiasm, was refilling my reserves more quickly than was even comfortable, I didn't think casting the spell would put me at much of a disadvantage.

As Sera's bee grenade smashed open behind the Qunari, distracting them, I cast the spell. Almost immediately Rainier's color came back and he went charging at the Qunari warrior that _hadn't_ caught the brunt of Sera's bees. Dorian surged to his feet and nailed both Qunari with a freezing spell that left them barely able to move while the bees and Rainier had at them. He followed that up with a nice little spell to induce panic as I hit them with fire. It wasn't long before they were disposed of. 

* * *

_* An aside here you're welcome to skip. I just want to say a few words about healing potions and spells. Everyone seems to be under the impression that they're some sort of miracle-cure that can take on every injury, every physical difficulty, and rid you of it entirely, leaving you hale, hearty, well-rested and ready to battle monsters indefinitely. While they are pretty miraculous, they can most assuredly not fix everything. If that were true, then as long as there were some potions or a mage that knows healing spells nearby, no one would ever die in battle -- or anywhere else, for that matter -- and you'd never see people walking around with scars. Assuming you do have either potions or a mage with you, you're not guaranteed an injury-free romp against the bad guys. Sometimes no one gets to you in time. Sometimes the injuries are just too extensive and grievous for anything to repair. And the thing they always neglect to mention? If you use too many potions and/or healing spells too frequently, they slowly lose their effectiveness. Just as you can build up a tolerance to drugs or alcohol, you can get -- what would you call it? Healing fatigue? They still try to heal you, but it gets sluggish and takes more to heal less. Eventually, like it or not, you have to stop and let your body recover. Thus when that Fade demon nearly killed me, potions and healing spells kept me alive, but I also ended up with a spectacular set of scars._

* * *

As Sera wandered up and down the stairway and lower landing collecting any undamaged arrows she could find and Rainier busied himself cleaning his sword, I sat down at the top of the stairway and massaged my left forearm. Dorian settled next to me. "Resurgence spell didn't help?"

I shook my head. "Not a bit. Fucking Anchor's impervious to any and all efforts to make it stop. What happened to you down there? I was a little busy and didn't see."

"Rather embarrassing, really," he frowned. "I was trying to restore Blackwall-" 

"Rainier," I corrected absently.

"Whatever. -to some semblance of consciousness and miscalculated how long my barrier spell would hold out. Next thing I knew, something hit me in the back of the head, I saw a flash of pretty colors, then nothing until your spell."

"It was that wanker there," Sera pointed at a Qunari with half his head missing as she joined us. "Exploding arrow in the ear - works every time."

"I'm not sure if the vicious glee with which you said that is charming or terrifying," Dorian said.

"Since it saved our asses, I'd go with charming," Rainier advised.

"You lot should've seen what _he_ did," Sera said, now pointing at me.

"What did I do?" I discharged the Anchor at nothing and swore.

"Only punched that one to death," she waved at my stealthy foe, who was still lying at the bottom of the stairs, "with _one_ punch."

"He can't be dead," I objected.

Rainier descended the stairs and knelt next to the Qunari. "He's dead all right." He rejoined us. "Neck's snapped, looks like."

"When he hit the stairs or on the rest of the way down, obviously," I said.

"Uh-uh, it was the punch," Sera insisted. "I saw it. Big green flash and _boom_ , SNAP! Instant meat puppet!"

Rainier chuckled as Dorian said, "She does have a way with words. Is it true, Kai?"

I shrugged. "Well, I suppose. He just popped up in my face and I panicked. Didn't even think of using a spell. I just put everything I had into the punch and discharged the Anchor when I hit him so he'd stop trying to gut me."

"See?" Sera said triumphantly.

"It was mostly luck," I protested. "I've never even _been_ in a fistfight before."

"Pretty good for panicking," Rainier said, looking at me thoughtfully. "Like divine guidance."

"Oh, don't _you_ start with that chosen-by-the-gods nonsense now." I glared at him. "I've _seen_ fistfights, so it's not like I was utterly clueless about the concept of punching. And no one expects you to hit left-handed."

"I don't know…" Dorian smirked at me. "Kai Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and bare-knuckle Champion of the Gods? Sounds like the stuff of legends to me."

I shook my head emphatically. "No. You've all got to promise me. Now. Not a word about this as long as I'm Inquisitor. If people hear about this, half of them are going to think it's pure hyperbole and that's fine. But a chunk of the others are going to start that 'Andraste's Chosen' horseshit again and the rest are going to be young idiots trying to fistfight me so they can say they _bested_ me at something I'm not even any good at."

Rainier nodded slowly. "I have to admit, when I was a young idiot it would've crossed my mind to try taking you on."

"See?" I mimicked Sera.

"What about when you're not Inquisitor?" she asked.

"Go ahead and tell the story. No one's going to care then." I discharged the Anchor again and grunted as I tried to keep from yelping. "I'll probably just be a one-armed nobody at that point." There was a moment of silence -- the sort generally referred to as a pregnant pause.

"Everyone ready to get going again?" Dorian stood up.

"Sure. My arrows are back," Sera said.

"Sooner we get out of here the better," Rainier agreed.

"Hear, hear," I stood up as well.

We descended the stairway and saw a long, surprisingly undamaged corridor to our right that clearly led to the large building they were using as a supply depot. Directly in front of us was a large crate still half-full of healing potions the Qunari had been using. We wasted no time re-stocking then started down the corridor. We hadn't gone far when Rainier signalled us to stop. "Sera, come here a moment. You've got the best eyes; what is that up there?"

Sera squinted intently up the corridor. I could see what had given Rainier pause: a humanoid shape that had to be at least as big as The Iron Bull to be seen from that distance. "It's a sort of Qunari…" she said slowly, "but weird. All sort of crawly and magicky."

Dorian and I looked at each other. "Saarebas?" I said.

"Has to be," he answered. "Ah, the charming people one meets in the Deep Roads."

I'll apologize now to those who might have been expecting me to describe an epic battle here. We went with smart rather than epic. "Think he sees us?" I asked.

Sera squinted again. "Dunno. Looks like he's just waiting."

I had an idea forming and decided to chase it a bit. "Waiting…like he was told."

"Well, yeah. Qunari don't do squat without being told, right? What're you on about?"

"Just…that goes for Qunari in general, yes?"

"What's your point?" Rainier asked a bit impatiently.

"Bear with me; I'm thinking this through out loud," I said. "Now, if that's true for normal Qunari, how much more is it for Saarebas? We all know how they treat their mages."

"Makes your Circles look like a children's party with a few half-hearted rules about not eating too many sweets," Dorian said darkly.

"Exactly. So when a Saarebas is told to do something, I expect they follow their orders to the letter."

Sera saw where I was going first and burst out laughing. "You mean orders like 'wait here for the intruders and kill them'?" 

I smiled. "Precisely. If its handlers didn't think too carefully about their wording…what's your outside range, Sera?"

"Bit closer than this, but not by much. What about you and Dorian?"

"About the same, I think."

Dorian fiddled with the ends of his mustache. "You can't possibly mean…would they be that stupid?"

I grinned. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"Someone want to tell the daft old man what's going on first?" Rainier interjected.

"As long as we're correct, I'm afraid there won't be much for you to do but stand to one side and watch for reinforcements," I told him. "It should be obvious once we start."

Dorian, Sera and I walked forward perhaps fifteen paces; the Saarebas was easy to see from there, but not close enough make out his features. We readied our weapons and just…started firing, Sera with her arrows while Dorian and I channeled offensive spells through our staves. All three of us were hitting the Saarebas far more than we were missing.

And the Saarebas? As I'd hoped, we heard him roar on occasion as he jittered back and forth in the corridor trying to avoid our barrage, but he never moved more than three paces toward us. His idiot handlers had told him to kill anything that entered his stretch of corridor, but had neglected to tell him it was permitted to take the fight out of that area. He tried lobbing spells back at us, but between my having to discharge the Anchor regularly and our own barrier spells, he never stood a chance of getting through.

He was tough: It took almost ten solid minutes of steady assault before he went down. Then we waited a few more minutes to see if he was going to get up again. He didn't.

"Well, that was refreshing," Dorian said.

"I could get used to it," I agreed as we walked towards the building.

"Wasn't as much fun as dragons," Sera said.

"You still have enough arrows, Sera?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, I'm good," she said in a weirdly evasive tone. Other people had commented on her seemingly endless supply of arrows before. One of these days I was going to have to look into that.

Central Supply turned out to be something of an anticlimax. I'd been picturing some kind of bloody great depot to supply the Qunari's entire operation, but while the building itself was grand enough, all that was stored there were racks of the gaatlok bombs, some boxes of primers, one chest with a very nice dagger in it and a rather pathetic cache of healing potions. We took the dagger, primers and potions and went back the way we came.

The destruction of the Qunari mining platforms was far more interesting in the doing than in the telling, as each one was essentially the same. They stored their gaatlok bombs in racks at each site, so all we needed to do was prime one and detonate it, and all the others blew along with it in a spectacular - if dreadfully dusty - explosion that took out the entire platform while we ran like hell to avoid getting nailed with debris. Of course, that attracted Qunari every damned time, so we had to put a swarm of them down along with the platform.  

By the time we'd taken out the fourth and last platform, the air was thick with dust, making visibility even dicier than it had been. More worrisome, the sounds of rockfall were increasing and whatever we had destroyed had resulted in the waters that we'd seen at the bottom of the massive cavern beginning to rise rapidly. "That's it," I said, "Let's get out of here and warn the others about this 'Dragon's Breath' plan."

"I doubt the ox-men or that rising flood water will make it easy for us," Dorian commented.

“When is it ever easy?” I said as I discharged the Anchor. All the dust turned the air around us a virulent shade of green.

“Ew!” Sera grimaced. “Too much like the Fade!”

We retraced our steps back toward the surface. As predicted, the Qunari didn’t make it easy, but we were only running across ragged groups of them (all of whom attacked on sight because even when the rock platform you’re standing on is crumbling beneath your feet and the roof is falling in, one must have _priorities_ ). 

As we advanced back through the chambers and stairways we took the chance to quickly search rooms that looked as though the Qunari had been working in them, grabbing anything that looked like a document. With their penchant for writing everything down, there should be something there to corroborate our story if anyone back in Halamshiral doubted us. Most of them we didn’t even read, though I saw one very short note from the Viddasala commanding that the young former Templar who had helped us was to be brought in for re-education. Turned out it didn’t matter, as we found his body within spitting distance of the final stairway leading to the eluvian, poor bastard.

“So,” I said as we charged up the stairs, “who gets to tell Cullen and Josephine that we’re probably at war with the Qun? Anyone?”

Sera snorted, “As _if_.”

“They’re going to kill me,” I sighed and discharged the Anchor one final time before walking through the eluvian.


	10. Infiltrator / Back Down the Rabbit Hole

“ ‘Dragon’s Breath’. “ Leliana laughed humorlessly. “The Qunari have always enjoyed their metaphors.”

This return from eluvian-land was identical to the last: the others went off to do whatever they wanted while I changed out of my armor, cleaned up as best I could and went to debrief my advisors on the results of our latest fun-filled adventure. 

“But what does it mean?” Josephine said.

“Who knows?” Cullen sounded annoyed. “Qunari agents moving through eluvians to attack the south is bad enough already.”

“I still do not understand why they accused the Inquisition of serving Fen’Harel,” Leliana said. 

“Corypheus tried to set himself up as a god. Maybe someone who knows elven history is doing the same,” I suggested.

“But how does that implicate us?” Josie wondered. “What made them decide that the Inquisition serves this Fen’Harel?”

“Hopefully we will learn more after we have stopped them,” Leliana said.

“Let’s see the Exalted Council try to disband the Inquisition after we’ve saved them from this Dragon’s Breath,” Cullen said a bit smugly.

“We must find out what this Dragon’s Breath is first,” Leliana pointed out. “For now, our only lead is the Qunari leader, the Viddasala.”

I was content letting them talk it out. The Anchor had lapsed into relative quiescence for the moment and I was enjoying the break. My role in the whole thing was already predetermined: go back into the field and hunt down the bad guys, like always. I was still going to disband the Inquisition when this was all over, but it certainly wasn’t the time to say anything about that.

We were interrupted by the arrival of Cyril and Arl Teagan – _together?_ – clumping down the stairs towards us. Teagan looked pissed, but I was starting to think that was his default expression. Cyril had his bloody mask on, of course.

Josie greeted them, “Gentlemen?”

“My apology, Lady Josephine,” said Cyril, “There has been an incident with one of your soldiers.”

Teagan fixed me with a death look. “How _dare_ you? It was bad enough the Inquisition chose not to inform the Exalted Council of the Qunari corpse-“

“Orlais would have been happy to help with the matter,” Cyril interrupted, his delivery pure treacle.

“But now your own guards are attacking _servants_?” Teagan bulled on, ignoring Cyril. “You have overstepped your bounds!” He pointed at me, stabbing the air.

What I _wanted_ to do was plant the sort of punch in his face that I’d used on that Qunari in the Deep Roads, but that isn’t diplomatic, so I settled for sarcasm. “My plan to seize power in Ferelden would hardly start with soldiers scuffling in Orlais, Arl Teagan.”

Josephine gave him a sweet smile. “While the Exalted Council is our foremost priority, the Inquisitor will of course address this matter personally.” She whipped her head around and gave me a Look that broached no argument.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cyril gave us a shallow bow even though no one had been talking to him. “Orlais stands ready to assist the Inquisition, as always.”

“Secrets and lies,” Teagan spit. “Do you understand why we fear your Inquisition? You act as though you’re the solution to _every_ problem. How long before you drag us into another war?” He spun around and pounded back up the stairs, Cyril following along more decorously.

“So now everything the bloody Qunari do is _my_ fault?” I said to no one in particular. “Prick.”

“Just go see what the problem is, please,” Josie sighed.

“Of course. That’s what I do,” I said. “Then after we solve it people like Arl bloody Teagan can complain about _how_ we solved it.”

“That’s politics in a nutshell,” Cullen said wryly.

A young soldier led me to the locus of the problem, though it wasn’t hard to spot: it was the area with all the soldiers and guardsmen standing about glaring at each other. In the centre of it all were two of our soldiers – one human, one elven – and an elven servant who was seated on the ground next to a gaatlok container. A second container was visible a short distance away.

“What’s going on here?” I said as I approached them.

“The Orlesians tried to take one of our people, Inquisitor,” said the human soldier. “We’ve secured the area.”

“This is the Winter Palace,” one of the Orlesian guards strode over to us. “You cannot simply seize control when one of your guards attacks a servant.”

“The Inquisition is handling this,” the soldier retorted. “When some noble commits a crime of fashion, you can take over.”

“I only asked what he was doin’,” said the elven soldier. 

The servant stood up. “And when I refused to bow to the Inquisition dogs, you attacked me!”

“How would you like us to handle the situation, Inquisitor?” the human soldier asked.

“That barrel there –“I pointed at the closest gaatlok container, “where did it come from?”

“I was ordered to bring wine to the guests,” the servant said.

“You’re lyin’,” said the elven soldier.

“Your Inquisition soldiers are completely out of control,” the Orlesian guard whined at me.

“No, we’re in control,” countered the human soldier. “Keep talking, you’ll find yourself in chains.”

“Please take the servant into custody,” I told my soldiers. In no way did a gaatlok container resemble a wine cask.

“Right away, Your Worship,” the human soldier replied and hustled the servant away.

“Inquisitor…” the guard began.

“Ambassador Montelier will explain later,” I told him. “For now, please hold the servant for questioning.”

He gave me a dark look. “As you say, Inquisitor. Lord Cyril will hear about this.”

As he walked away, the elven soldier approached me. “Inquisitor? I also found this by the barrel. I can’t read the language.” She handed me a scrap of paper and followed after the other soldier; the writing on it appeared to be Qunlat.

I looked up from it to see Leliana standing a discreet distance away. I joined her and she asked, “Did you resolve the problem with the guard?”

“The guard is the least of our problems,” I told her. “Someone’s smuggled gaatlok barrels into the Winter Palace.”

“Smile, Inquisitor,” she said warningly, “There are many eyes upon us. At least now we know the true extent of the Dragon’s Breath.”

“You think the Dragons’ Breath is these gaatlok barrels,” I said, pasting a look of mild amusement on my face.

“Of course. A surprise attack, even through the eluvians, would have met fierce resistance. But if everyone at the Exalted Council died in the explosion, the south would be rudderless, vulnerable to attack. This is what Corypheus should have done after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. An attack as swift and unstoppable as the breath of a dragon.”

I wasn’t convinced she was correct, but let it go for the time being. “The guard who confronted the servant said she found this note near one of the barrels. It looks like Qunari writing.” I handed it to her.

“Let me see…” she looked it over. “I picked some up from The Iron Bull, though I’m told my accent is atrocious. These are orders for positioning the gaatlok in the palace. _When duty has been performed, report to the Viddasala through the mirror marked by the bookcase._ ”

“I’ve been hoping to meet the esteemed Viddasala,” I said cheerfully. “How nice of her to invite us over.”

“Good,” Leliana smiled. “While you do that, I’ll have agents locate the gaatlok barrels and remove them safely. I will also send word to my foreign contacts; we must see where else this dragon could strike.”

**###**

“So I’m leaving it up to you,” I said. 

After talking to Leliana, I’d asked Dorian, Sera, Rainier and Bull to meet me at the Gilded Horn. We needed to have a discussion that didn’t involve my erstwhile advisors and did involve food.

“I suspect time is not on our side, but I need to know if anyone doesn’t feel up to another trip through the eluvians today. And Bull, if you’re available now I’d like you along because you still know more about the Qunari than the rest of us combined, but if you can’t I’d rather stick with Thom.”

“Any particular reason you’re avoiding substitutions on this one?” Dorian asked as he speared a chunk of fried potato off his plate.

“The less explaining I need to do, the better. Not that the others couldn’t get up to speed quickly, but,” I shrugged, “you all are aware just how bad the Anchor’s gotten when we’re around all the elven magic, which makes it easier for me to deal with. And not to disparage the others in the slightest, but I feel like we mesh best when it comes to working together in the field.”

Iron Bull nodded. “Makes sense. If you’re good with it, Rainier, I’m back in.”

“Fine by me,” Rainier said with a grin. “Means I can order an ale now. Um – you’re sure you don’t want to bring a few extra people along this time? Some of those places are bound to be crawling with Qunari.”

I shook my head. “No, at heart this still remains the sort of mission that’s best served by a small team. I’d prefer to win by sabotage and attrition rather than all-out battle.”

“Pragmatic and expedient,” he said approvingly. “Just wanted you to know I’m in if you want me. But if you’re sure, I’ll just go fetch that ale now.”

I smiled and waved him on. “Go. Enjoy. Don’t feel like you have to leave the conversation though. We need someone on this side who’s up to speed too.”

Dorian was looking at me searchingly. “And what about you, amatus? As you’ve pointed out, the Anchor’s getting worse the longer you’re over - um, out? - there. Are _you_ up to doing another run today?”

I took a drink of coffee and thought about it. "I don't know how many runs I have left in me before this thing eats my hand, so better to get it done as quickly as possible. Get it done quickly enough, and there may even be something to salvage." I barked a laugh that wasn't really one. "Maybe we'll run into Solas and the little bald bastard will bloody fix it."

Sera looked up from her plate, which she had been industriously emptying of food while the rest of us combined eating with talking. " _You're_ bald."

"Which gives me license to say things about other bald guys."

"Yeah, but you choose to be. So you're only, like, _pretend_ bald." She gave me a superior smirk.

"Do you think Solas ever _had_ hair?" Dorian interjected. "If you ever looked at his head, it's smooth as an egg."

From there the conversation got increasingly silly, so in the interests of moving things along, I'll skip the next several minutes. Everyone agreed we could handle one more run in hopes that we could find the Viddasala and shut down whatever mission she had running before any real damage could be done. Thus about an hour later, re-armored and resupplied, we walked back through the eluvian to the Crossroads.


	11. Library

Just like the last two times, everyone but Sera needed a moment of adjustment to the feeling of dull discordance that accompanied the Crossroads, and just like last time, we saw a group of Qunari just disappearing into an eluvian at the end of a road that hadn't been there last time.

"There is definitely something funny with time here," I muttered. Then the Anchor bit my hand and spit green fire and I lost my train of thought.

We headed up the paths we'd taken before, which now led to the new one, Sera effortlessly pulling ahead of us as usual. We found her waiting, not at the eluvian, but a bit off to the side on the landing that led to the eluvian. She was studying one of those egg-shaped obelisks suspiciously.

"What's up?" Bull asked for all of us.

"It's like it's waiting for something," she said with a frown. "It's all glowy; can't you see it?"

"Maybe we should see what it wants," I said. I touched the spot that looked like some sort of triggering area and a rock stairway began to form that looked identical to the paths we'd been taking. I walked a few feet and it continued to form in front of me. "So that's how the Qunari move the paths," I said.

It was an eerie feeling, watching the path form just a few feet in front of you, yet another drop-off to certain death there if it stopped forming.

"Do a thing, rocks move," Sera said happily. "Switches are fine whatever they look like."

The path took us to another high plateau and another eluvian. I looked at the others, shrugged and walked through it. As I'd expected, they came through right behind me, though Sera complained that we were just faffing about now.

The eluvian led to what looked like an old jail that appeared to be empty. The foyer held a broken eluvian alongside the working one; there was nothing else of interest but a large drawing on the wall of what appeared to be a very fat deer.

"Either the jailor was really bored or- " Bull paused, "Actually, I can't think of another reason for that."

The jail area itself held four cells and four more broken eluvians, as well as an unflattering drawing of a man we assumed was the jailor and a small chest. "Were they storing broken eluvians here or were they trying to get one keyed to this place?" I wondered.

"I can't really bring myself to care," Dorian said. "Do you want to open the little chest and spring the inevitable trap or not?"

Electric rats ran up the inside of my left forearm; I discharged the Anchor. "Fuck it. We're wasting time."

We went back and once again the path formed for us as we retraced our steps to the obelisk; I assume that triggering the thing keyed it to us, at least for the time being. We walked to the correct eluvian and found, incongruously, what looked like one wall of a library standing there amongst the rocks. The eluvian was a short distance past it.

"I'm guessing this is the eluvian marked by the bookshelf," I said. 

Sera wandered over to poke through a pile of books and papers nearby. "Hey, there's a note here with a map. _Do not stray from the marked paths. There are many mirrors. Some lead to danger. Do not linger longer than you must._ And it's all little floaty island-thingies. Shite. Why does everything here have to act like it's in the sodding _Fade_?"

We gathered around her to look at the map. "Ah," Dorian said, "I see. They're all floating in mid-air."

" _Yes_ ," Sera spat.

I sighed. "This ought to send the Anchor into all-new levels of enthusiasm. I'm suddenly a lot more serious about the possibility of it eating my hand."

"Do you want to head back, Boss?" Bull asked.

"No. Regardless of what the Anchor's pulling, the Viddasala's through there, and I don't fancy waiting around Halamshiral for her to come to us."

We leafed through a few other books just in case. Some held interesting glimpses into the past, and others were in languages none of us could read, but none were of any immediate use. We gave up and approached the eluvian.

"This should be it," I commented.

"Good - time to get some answers from the Viddasala," said Bull.

We stepped through into what looked like a more robust continuation of the library. The wall at the other end appeared to have been forcibly ripped away. My hand and forearm were itching like mad. "Is this some sort of old elven library?" I said.

"It definitely saw a massive magical backlash some time ago," Dorian commented.

"Let's hope we can track down the Viddasala in all this." I discharged the Anchor before it could do something obnoxious. I could still see it glowing even after, little tendrils of light racing up and down my forearm sporadically.

“Well, I’ll be – the map was accurate,” Bull said. He had walked to the end where the wall had been ripped away and the path onward commenced. We joined him and saw that he wasn’t kidding. The path directly in front of us led to a large flight of stairs that eventually led to another eluvian; surrounding it were vast ruins. But in the distance we could see islands and outcroppings of more ruins, and just as the map had shown, they were all floating in mid-air.

Sera was looking out at the bizarre landscape with dismay. "The Fade. Not good. I would rather be anywhere else. I mean, please yourself, Inquisitor Herald, but really - let's kill everything and be anywhere else." Her voice sounded uncharacteristically shaky.

"This isn't the Fade, exactly," Dorian said. "It's more like…right next door to it."

"Well it's close enough!" Sera snapped.

"Sera," I said sharply. She looked at me wide-eyed. I pulled off my gauntlet and lifted my left forearm in front of me. "Look at my fucking hand. Even when it's not doing anything it could light up a room and I've already mentioned what it feels like. Do you honestly think I want to be here any more than you do?"

"…No," she said in a small voice.

"Then please stop panicking and let's bloody well get this over with."

The architects of this place were just as fond of big wolf statues as the ones at the fortresses, but had added massive statues of what looked like raptors standing at attention to the décor. Two of them flanked the entrance to the path we now followed. It may have been a wonder at some point in the distant past, but now it was rocky and uneven, strewn with debris like everything else we could see.

At the bottom of the path was a landing leading to the staircase, and on the landing was what looked like some sort of spirit. It was a humanoid red-orange shimmer, and as we approached it turned its attention to Sera, saying, "Andaron atish'an", which from what I recall is a sort of formal elven greeting. 

"Why's it talking to me?" Sera demanded quaveringly, "Don't talk to me. You make me dizzy."

"If you wish, honoured Elvhen," the spirit said. Its voice sounded female. "I will speak so your guests understand. I am Study. I am a learning thirst. Come - know what has not been lost. New words, new stories. The Qunari would not approach, but we learned their words as well. If you wish to exchange knowledge, they congregate by the lower gate."

"What did the old elves use this place for?" I asked it.

"This is the Vir Dirthara - the living knowledge of the Empire. The libraries of every city, the wisdom of every court. A connecting place whose paths are in disarray."

"What put this place into disarray?"

"The Vir Dirthara was made with world and Fade," it answered. "When they sundered, so did we. Paths broke, knowledge fragmented, many were trapped. I preserve their last words."

Historically, this was too good to pass up. "What were these old elves' last words?" I asked.

" 'What happened? Where are the paths? Where are the paths?' " it said in the same emotionless tone as it said everything. " 'Gods save me, the floor is gone. Do not let me fall. Do not let me-' On this spot, that is all."

"Thanks. Really paints a picture," Bull said.

"There must be thousands of years of history here," I said to it. "There must be so much you could teach us."

"I will try to recall, honoured patron, but there are gaps," it replied. "Breaks…Greetings. Laughter. Emma enesal. Forms out of air. Lights. Memories. Aneth ara! So many. Broken paths at every…Missing. Missing. Missing!" Now it sounded distressed.  "I cannot. I cannot. There is no more." 

It shimmered as it appeared to regroup itself. "Apologies. I knew all once. We knew. With the break, only fragments or knowledge new, since the fall."

Best to change the subject, then. "I'm looking for a Qunari called Viddasala. Do you know what she wants here?"

"Viddasala - yes. She uses scholars and mages for study. They fear this place, but they seek to know the Veil."

"What does Viddasala want to know?"

"I regret I do not have more information," it replied. "I am sundered from myself. If you discover another one of me nearer the Qunari, I may know more. Kindly give it greetings - I have not thought with myself for some time."

"We'll be going now," I told it.

"Know this," it said, "An unknown person, not of the Qunari, recently woke the Librarians."

"An unknown person…could this be our agent of Fen'Harel?" I said to the others.

"The Librarians facilitated learning before the fracture," the spirit said.  "Before the fall. Now: beware them. They are unwell."

"Why do I get the feeling that doesn't mean they've all taken to their beds with sick headaches?" Dorian said as we started up the stairs.

I was about to say something about librarians, but the sight when we reached the top pushed that thought out of my mind. "There -- Qunari. On that…upside down island?"

Ahead of and…above us was a massive building much like the others we'd seen all over this area, with one distinct difference: It was floating sedately upside-down. This fact didn't seem to phase the many Qunari we could see going about their business on it.

"How are they not chucking their guts just constantly?" Sera wondered aloud.

"Damned if I know," I shrugged. "Magic."

The path in front of us led to a large eluvian that was mirrored (if you'll pardon the pun) by one above it on the upside-down island. Naturally there were gaps in the path; maker forbid we just be able to walk straight there. I stepped forward and triggered the rock-moving obelisk at the top of the stairs. It obliged us by setting a stone pathway to the next outcropping. "That repaired some of the steps; let's look around for more. The inverted eluvian must lead to the Qunari."

"Ya think?" Bull drawled.

"Ha ha. Like you never state the obvious with the Chargers just to make sure everyone knows what you're doing?" I led the way down a staircase to our left with another eluvian at the bottom.

"Just busting your balls a bit, Boss," he said easily.

"Hah. Very alliterative of you." I stepped through the eluvian.

We emerged in what looked like a massive courtyard. There were pillars interspersed around the perimeter at regular intervals, each one the setting for a great bookshelf. Between these were railed balconies looking out on the landscape of floating islands. The centre of the place held a low, round dais, and in the centre of that was one of their metallic, stylized trees like the one we'd seen back at the fortresses (except this one was right-side-up). It too was crackling as green bolts of what looked like some form of veilfire danced between its 'branches'. Two of the corner balconies also held eluvians. 

As I neared the central dais, the Anchor chose to emphatically remind me it was there, discharging itself with an electric crackling of its own and sending a bolt of pain up my forearm that was bad enough to make me cry out.

"It's definitely flaring up most near magic. Elven magic," Dorian said, carrying on the tradition of stating the obvious.

"At least it doesn't hurt when I'm casting spells," I said. "Wish I knew what's causing it. Specifically, I mean."

"I'm not sure. Tell us if it gets worse," he replied.

"Oh, I think you'll all be able to tell," I said dryly.

We had a cursory look around in case the Qunari had left anything besides some of their ubiquitous gaatlok containers. There were a few interesting-looking books, but nothing of immediate significance.

"Not much here," Bull said. "Eluvian time?"

"Take your pick," I gestured vaguely towards them. That last bolt of pain felt like it had driven straight into my elbow and it still hadn't completely gone away. I was massaging it, which seemed to help a bit, and already feeling heartily sick of this land of ruined, floating islands.

Bull led the way to one and we stepped through. The new island contained more rubble, stairways and stomach-churning drop-offs than the courtyard. We picked our way through fallen masonry, up a stairway and halfway across what was once a good-sized room before we saw anything. Set back in the room was a low, rectangular dais with an eluvian at its far end. The dais was covered with a large, new-looking mosaic. Someone had taken the time to light small flocks of candles at each corner of the mosaic and to each side of the eluvian. Whether the someone was one of the dead Qunari nearby, I couldn't tell you.

I looked them over quickly. "These Qunari are dead, but there's not a mark on them."

"Backs hunched…eyes wide open. They were scared shitless when they died," Bull said.

We stepped onto the dais and another (or perhaps another aspect of the same) archivist spirit appeared. "Welcome," it said. "Welcome. Listen to the last words of those who lived past the fall. _How could the Dread Wolf cast a veil between the world that wakes and the world that dreams? … The Evanuris will send people. They will save us. … When have you last heard from the gods? When the veil came down, they went silent. … What is this veil? What has Fen'Harel done?"_

"Are these records saying Fen'Harel created the veil between our world and the Fade?" I asked it.

"That can't be true. The Veil's always been there. No one _made_ it," Sera objected.

"If it's true, that means the Fade and the waking world were once one and the same," Dorian said.

While we'd been talking, the archivist spirit had disappeared without answering my question. "Damn. Didn't even get to tell it one of its other aspects says hello. Shall we see what's through there?" I indicated the eluvian, turned the movement into an Anchor discharge before it could do it itself, then walked through the mirror.

The new venue was a long, mostly intact hallway leading to less-intact areas.

"Look at this place," Dorian said with a degree of academic enthusiasm. "Now that we have so many samples, how hard would it be to build eluvians of our own?"

Sera glared at him. "Dorian, how about you not be so _Tevinter_ about the ancient bullshit?"

"After these past few years, it would just be good to create something magical that is also _helpful_ for a change," he replied.

"I tend to agree," I said. "There's nothing intrinsically bad about the eluvians. It's actually quite wonderful; certainly better than having to slog across country on horseback or ox cart for weeks at a time."

"Of course you'd agree with him," she said impatiently.

I gave her an innocent look. "Why? Because he's my boyfriend or because we're both mages?"

"Those too!" 

Dorian cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. "Would that be 'two' as in 'those two things' or 'too' as in 'also'?" 

"Also!" she glared at both of us.

"Whatever else have I done?" I asked, truly curious now.

"You just always have to be so- so _open-minded_ about everything even when you shouldn't be. Some things are just _bad_ and _wrong_ and you're all 'oh, let's be fair and give it a chance' and sometimes that's total bollocks. Augh!" she finished, the enormity of my trespasses going beyond her capacity for words.

"You _beast_ , Kai." Dorian grinned at me.

"She's got you there, Boss." Bull looked just as amused. "You _are_ open-minded to a fault; just look at the sort of rabble you've invited into the Inquisition."

I discharged the Anchor absently. "I suppose I'm guilty as charged. I blame it on not being given the chance to have a misspent youth."

Dorian looked pleased. "Now that is a novel excuse."

"I could use that." Bull said, tapping his chin with a forefinger. "Mind if I borrow that sometime?"

"Yeah, hahaha, you're all very funny," Sera said glumly as she gazed over the railing at the blasted landscape. "But you shouldn't be all jokey all the time. Some things _are_ just bad."

I walked over and leaned on the railing next to her. "We know that, Sera. Just like I know you hate places like this. I can't speak for the others, but right now I kind of _need_ to be all jokey because I can't afford to let all this get to me. You understand?"

She stared at my hand as she nodded slowly, then looked up to meet my eyes. "Yeah, I guess I do. I still bloody hate all this Fade shite, but we can't have you falling to bits. It's not fair, though. You keep making it hard for me to stay mad at you."

"Well, that I'm not going to apologize for," I smiled at her. "So you ready to go find this Viddasala and get the fuck out of this place?"

She smiled back. " _So_ ready. Lead the way, Inquisitor."

I discharged the Anchor again, clamping down on the yelp of pain that accompanied it so it came out more of a strangled grunt that didn't fool anyone and saying, "Let's go," headed down the corridor and the stairway that opened up to our right. It disembarked into another library section.

I picked up a book at random and was surprised by what I saw.

"Huh."

"What is it, Boss?" asked Bull as the others came over to see.

"Interesting. This appears to be the final chapter of Varric's _Hard in Hightown_ series."

Dorian frowned. "I don't think he's written that yet."

I closed the book and set it back on the shelf. "No, as far as I know, he hasn't."

We couldn't find anything that would be of any help to us, so we backtracked to the Courtyard and tried the second eluvian.

Straight ahead as we emerged was another sort-of-veilfire-sparking stylized tree. In a circle around it were statues of monk-like hooded figures on squared stone podiums. Each figure was holding an unlit veilfire container. A moment of experimentation showed that the containers wouldn't respond to a magical charge; they might be able to hold veilfire, but they couldn't generate any. At the far end were more dead Qunari, all with the same terrified expressions.

We climbed yet another uneven, rubble-strewn stairway and found another aspect of the archivist spirit. As the last one had, this one immediately said, "Welcome, and listen to the last words of those who walked this place. _If we get out of here, I will end Fen'Harel. … After he held back the sky to imprison the gods, the Dread Wolf disappeared. … Lies. We must tear down the Veil. The cities, the pathways - without magic, they're crumbling. … You're wasting your time. Fen'Harel's Veil has turned our empire to ruins._ " And like the last one, its mission accomplished, it disappeared. Beyond it was another eluvian.

"So the ancient elven empire collapsed because the Veil weakened magic," I said. 

"If the old elves relied on magic even more than the Vints, no wonder things went to crap when it dried up," Iron Bull added.

"Do you realize what this means - what this place is?" Dorian enthused. "The actual history of the elves could change _everything_."

I nodded. "It never did make sense to me how our mere showing up could make the elves lose their immortality."

Bull smirked. "Yeah, like it's some form of spiritually transmitted disease."

I discharged the Anchor and we walked through the eluvian into yet another semi-ruined corridor leading to more-ruined brickwork and rocks.

Bull shook his head in disgust. "Floating crap, magic mirror crap, evil demon crap…" He sighed. "This is like the Fade, only with falling to your death on top. When this is over, I'm gonna need someone to hit me with a stick again."

"That works," Sera said cheerfully. "It isn't over and I already want to hit things with sticks."

"I'm not sure whether I want that to be a metaphor or not," Dorian said.

"Next time we get the gang back together, let's do a dragon instead. Dragons are fun," Bull concluded as Sera nodded emphatically. Both of them approach dragon-slaying with absolute glee. Personally, I always feel vaguely guilty about killing the great beasts if they're not actively ravaging the countryside at the time.

We climbed more stairs to a rubble-strewn room painted with murals that were probably impressive before the roof and top half of the room were ripped away. The only things in it were some desks and chairs, with papers and other detritus strewn everywhere. At least some of the papers were new; they were covered with some sort of annotations in Qunlat.

"This looks like technical notes," I commented. "What did the Qunari come here to learn?"

"They're _real_ technical," Bull said studying a page. "I can't make out any either. Something about magic. That's it."

"I recognize some formulas," Dorian said as he looked over my shoulder. "The Qunari are trying to prove theoretical magic of some kind."

"Well they're putting _something_ into practice," I replied. We did a quick search of the rest of the area. At the truncated end of a nearby hallway was an obelisk with something carved on it: _When the Dread Wolf's gaze is bright, fire burns in a ring of the dead._ "If it's like that other one, we should be looking for another wolf statue."

"The fire could be the veilfire containers the circle of statues are holding," Dorian theorized. "Hooded robes often represent death in that sort of statuary."

"And we want to light the fire in the ring of the dead _why_?" Sera said pointedly.

"There could be treasure," I said.

"You _have_ money," she retorted not unreasonably. "Fire. Ring. DEAD. How do these sound like good things to you lot?"

"I'll just have a look for the statue. If it turns out it's going to be too much of a fuck-around, we'll drop it."

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll be waiting here in case we need to scrape you off a wall or something.”

“That’s why I adore you so,” I told her and headed around a nearby corner. Those statues are big, so it shouldn’t be difficult to spot. There was a likely-looking staircase, but it was blocked by more of that purpley, sticky magical fire. I gave a mental shrug, discharged the Anchor and stepped over it. I climbed the stairs, followed the landing around to the right, and as I suspected, there was the wolf statue, with a box between its front paws just like the one at the island fortress. A short distance from it was one of those hooded statues holding a veilfire receptacle. So give the wolf some veilfire to look at and the box opens. I went back down and took the other direction back. I found a chest containing a few trinkets that might be worth selling, and near it a scrap of a book that was interesting enough to take back to the others. This direction had another gauntlet of purple death-fire made inconsequential by the Anchor’s discharge and I returned without having to avail myself of Sera’s scraping services.

I told everyone about the statue and how it seemed to tie in with the statues on the other side of the last eluvian. “So I suppose the question is, is it worth trying to get the box open or not?”

Bull grunted, unimpressed. “You ask me, we can craft better stuff than most of the crap we find and the Inquisition isn’t exactly hurting for money.”

“I’d rather find the Viddy-bloody-sala and leave,” Sera said emphatically.

“I'm afraid I agree, amatus,” Dorian added. “Maybe if it’s conveniently on the way, but otherwise I think we can all live with the mystery of what’s in the box.”

“Fine by me,” I agreed. “I’d rather get out of here as soon as possible too. I did find this, though – listen: _Beware the forms of Fen’Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises. A wanderer who knows much of the People and their spirits. He will offer advice that seems fair, but turns slowly to poison._ It goes on a bit more, but that’s what caught my attention.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Why? Because a bunch of ancient elves thought Fenny was a wanker?”

“It just struck me that it sounds a lot like someone we know. Of course, it could just be that I’m somewhat pissed off at him for disappearing without even _trying_ to do something about the Anchor when it’s his bloody magic that made it.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Solas?”

“Uh huh. Haven’t you noticed how many of those frescos of Fen’Harel seem to feature a bald elf who looks freakishly familiar?”

Bull nodded. “Now that you mention it. You think he’s the mage who’s been sabotaging the Qunari?”

“Could be.” I discharged the Anchor at the wall across from us. “Or he could by trying to, I don’t know, model himself after Fen’Harel for some reason. That whole ‘humble wanderer who knows much about spirits’ bit is him to a tee.”

“Well if he’s the mage, why doesn’t he just join us?” Sera said crossly. “He decided he’s too special now?”

“Who knows? He always was a bit odd. We should finish exploring this island,” I said, leading the way to the one staircase going down that we hadn’t checked.

“Please don’t tell me he fancies himself the reincarnation of Fen’Harel now,” Dorian groaned.

We reached the bottom of the staircase and shortly found one of the egg-shaped rock-controlling obelisks. I activated it and we all watched a second group of large paving stones wing their way over to the broken pathway leading to the eluvian we needed to get to.

Bull shook his head. “Creepy. Helpful, but creepy.”

“It’s a place of learning,” I ventured. “Maybe this Vir Dirthara is helping us find what we need.”

“Now it’s even weirder,” Bull replied.

There wasn’t anything else of use on that island, so we returned to the courtyard again as it seemed to be a nexus point. I discharged the Anchor and got a nasty bolt of pain in my elbow that made me yelp.

“That’s really not getting better, Boss,” Bull observed.

I tested my elbow gingerly. “The pain’s stopped now.”

“It’s worse, right?” Sera sounded worried. “You need to…not get worse. Please?”

"Seconded," Dorian said grimly.

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “We must have missed an activation obelisk through one of these eluvians. Any idea where?”

“I’d vote for the one with Varric’s unwritten book,” Dorian said. “I don’t remember looking around quite as painstakingly there.”

“Sounds fair to me.” We headed back through and sure enough, just past the room with Varric’s book another corridor branched off to the left, and at the end of that one was one of the obelisks. I activated it and we were all able to see a pile of paving-stone sized rocks lift off from where they’d been strewn in front of the obelisk and fly across the void to install themselves as the final piece of pathway to the eluvian we needed to reach.

We headed back to the courtyard for the final time, all of us eager to get to the inverted eluvian, find the Viddasala and get the hell out of that place. Naturally, it just couldn’t be that easy. We stepped through the eluvian and immediately felt the difference. The air in the courtyard felt heavy and charged. The Anchor reacted predictably, sending a flurry of electric rat bites up and down my forearm as though they were all looking for a way out. I looked down at my hand and sure enough, tendrils of green light were racing from my hand up my arm, following the path of the bites.

“What the blue fuck is that?” I heard Bull say. I looked up to see that in four distinct spots the air was churning and coalescing into forms out of someone’s nightmares.

“I think we’re about to meet the Librarians,” Dorian said in a pleasant tone that belied the grim look on his face.

“I always rather liked every librarian I ever met,” I commented. “Until now, anyway.”

Sera was muttering “shite” repeatedly under her breath as she readied her bow.

The Librarians were great ghostly creatures– who were all too physical despite their appearance – that appeared to be wearing hooded robes and looked a lot like some of the Fade demons we’d fought. In addition to their arms, they had a series of four to six long, spiky tentacles emanating from their backs that could move and attack independently, magical attack abilities, and just to make them even more reprehensible – at least in my opinion – they would, on occasion, spawn masses of oversized spiders to act as their own little attack squads.

I can’t give you a clear description of the battle that ensued because there was just too much going on at once. I was discharging the bloody Anchor so frequently it didn’t get the chance to hurt as well as throwing offensive and defensive spells as quickly as I could. Dorian was doing the same (minus the Anchor part of course). Bull was mowing through spiders and hacking at the Librarians for all he was worth, and Sera was racing around like a mad thing trying to keep enough distance between her and her targets for her arrows to do their devastating best. Fortunately the Librarians and their arachnid army were corporeal enough that we _could_ physically attack and injure them. Furthermore, they were vulnerable to our bee grenades. I believe that’s what really turned the tide for us.

For several minutes that seemed to go on much longer the air was filled with a kaleidoscope of color and light from the Anchor and the spells of both us and the Librarians, enraged bees, arrows, blood, ichor, and spider silk. Trying to keep to the perimeter of the fight was nearly impossible, what with the four Librarians floating about the room and occasionally blinking out to materialize damn near on top of you. I went down more than once and I know the others did too, but the combination of skill, luck, decent armor and healing potions kept everyone relatively unscathed. It actually took me a minute to realize it when we’d finally killed them all; it was the sudden quiet that clued me in.

I stepped over a few dead spiders and sat on the edge of the dais in the centre of the room. Bull sat heavily on the stairs he’d been standing on as he hacked the last Librarian’s head off. Dorian joined me on the dais and Sera found a clean spot on the floor and laid on her back, stating, “Ugh!”

“That…was intense,” Bull said.

I took a few swallows of water from the flask I carried with me and said to no one in particular, “Do we really have to go fight more Qunari now? I really feel that that was sufficient for today.”

“Perhaps we’ll get there and they’ll tell us it was all a misunderstanding and apologize profusely,” Dorian said brightly, “Then we’ll all sit down to tea and cake.”

“Qunari don’t _do_ cake,” Bull said.

“One more reason I shall never join the Qun,” I said as I cast a cleanup spell on myself. “Wasn’t there one of those supply crates around here somewhere?”

Sera waved a hand towards the other side of the dais. “Over there. Dunno if it has any stuff in though. Can you do me next? I’m all sticky with spider ick.”

“To think I’ve lived to see the day Sera _asked_ to have a spell cast on her,” Dorian teased.

Sera sat up. “Oh, shut it, you. This is different.”

I shook my coat out, dusted myself off, spelled Sera quickly and headed over to that supply crate to see what was there. “Hunh. There must be a dozen potions here,” I told the others.

“The unfortunate part is we’ll probably need them,” Dorian added.

We appropriated all of them, I discharged the Anchor and made sure everyone was ready to take on yet another batch of hostile Qunari. Saying, “then let’s get this over with,” we went through the eluvian, crossed the newly-formed pathway and stepped through the inverted eluvian.

Despite the reality of what we’d seen, it didn’t feel like we were upside-down; it felt exactly the same as anywhere else we’d been. Directly in front of us were nine or ten Qunari warriors, waiting. I didn’t have to wonder for what as a woman’s voice rang out.

“Survivor of the breach. Herald of Change.” To our left on the mezzanine of the great chamber stood a horned Qunari woman. “Hero of the South.”

“The Viddasala, I presume,” I said, since we seemed to be exchanging titles. 

Behind me Sera gave a breathy laugh and said, “…wow.” 

“After fulfilling your purpose at the breach, it is astonishing to hear you still walked free among your people,” the Viddasala continued. _Magic-hating asshole._ “Your duty is done, Inquisitor. It is time to end your magic.”

“The Anchor repairs tears in the Veil,” I replied calmly. “I would think you’d approve of that.”

“Is that all it does? Tell me – why hold your hand as if it’s begun to pain you?” she retorted. “I am no stranger to catastrophe, but this chaos in the South defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to curb your own magic. You’ve amply proven we should have stepped in long ago.”

There were many things I would like to have said, but I learned long ago arguing with fanatics is pointless. Better to try and find out what she was actually up to. “Is that what Dragon’s Breath is for? Murdering our heads of state just to control our magic?” I asked, letting just a hint of incredulity into my voice.

“Do you believe closing the breach solved everything?” she demanded. “That its consequences stopped there? The day we saw the breach, the Qun decided its action. We would remove your leaders and spare those who toil. This agent of Fen’Harel has disrupted everything. Lives that were to be spared, lost for him.”

Crazier than a shithouse rat, as they say, but now we knew the agent was a him. “Who is this agent? Why would you think they work for the Inquisition?” I asked.

She turned toward the eluvian behind her. “Kill the Inquisitor. Then follow me to the Darvaarad.” And off she went.

 _Well, thanks the fuck a lot_ , I thought sourly. In addition to the aforementioned Qunari that were now attacking us, she’d left a damn Saarebas behind. With a hurried instruction to take out the regular Qunari as quickly as possible and concentrate any extra firepower on keeping the Saarebas off-balance – or better yet, dead – I discharged the Anchor and we closed with our enemies. 

I’m sure one of my more martially-minded colleagues could give you a thrilling, blow-by-blow description of the battle, but frankly, as far as I’m concerned they’re all pretty much the same. The length and intensity vary, and this one was high on both of those, but the mechanisms are the ones I’ve already described. Trying to time the Anchor discharges to give us the greatest benefit was an interesting new tactic for me to work in along with spellcasting, and I had to use my staff in its secondary designation as a blunt, stabby weapon more often than usual while I waited to recover enough to cast the next spell, since the bastards didn’t let up until they were dead, but the fact that I’m writing this should be a fair giveaway how the battle ended.

Not that it wasn’t a near thing: by the end we’d exhausted all our bee grenades (helpful hint – Saarebas are also vulnerable to them) and all but a few of our potions. We’d all sustained a few injuries, and after all the potions and spells we’d used in this battle and the one with the Librarians, the new ones we applied were working sluggishly. Which meant everyone was sore and dead tired, but the Qunari were just plain dead.

Now that there was no one to interfere, we had a look around for any loot or information they might have left behind. Bull found a note that must have been from one of their elven spies: _…We pulled everyone out of the palace. The shem nobles assumed we were servants leaving on an errand. We are hiding where you told us, waiting for signs that Dragon’s Breath has begun. Victory is in the Qun._

“No wonder the Qunari translated notes into our language. It was for their non-Qunari spies,” I commented.

“They’d have to; Qunlat’s not an easy one to learn,” Bull told us.

At a desk in a section of the vast room that looked like it was being used as living quarters, we found a sheaf of writings. Most of them were in Qunlat, but some had had paragraphs translated. The upshot of them seemed to be that these Qunari were being unspeakably brave to come to this place of magic along with their magically overpowered Saarebas, inspired by some elven mage in the distant past who made the Veil in order to stop the despotic mages of his time from doing whatever despotic things they were doing.

“These are the Viddasala’s papers. She brought mages here to research strengthening the Veil,” I said. 

“A way to clamp down magic; no wonder she’s here.” Bull shook his head.

“It explains why the Qunari thought it was worth camping here.” I discharged the Anchor before it could think about biting me again.

“Is that one of those archivist things?” Sera pointed at the section of the mezzanine mid-point between the two flights of stairs leading up to it. “It might know something.”

“Good idea,” I said, “and good spotting.” We climbed the nearest staircase, having found all there was to find below.

“Visitors, patrons, welcome!” the spirit said as soon as we neared it. “The halls are open.”

“Can you tell me where a Qunari called the Viddasala went?” I asked it.

“Yes, We heard much. Although she fooled herself into thinking we could not hear. _Take a keystone to the Darvaarad. I will join you there soon and take stock of our remaining gaatlok powder,_ ” it said, clearly quoting the Qunari leader.

“I found a keystone with one of the Qunari,” I told it. The Saarebas had had it on him, so we’d taken it on principle. 

“Yes, you need words with their key,” the spirit said. “ _Marass nehraa_. It glows. It will open the way to the Darvaarad. May you find what you seek. In coming here, you strengthened the paths. I will now raise one, if you wish to go.” Behind it, paving stones shifted and flew to form a path to another eluvian.

“You’ve been very helpful – um – “ I realized I had no idea what to call it.

“ ‘Ghil-Dirthalen’ was what the elvhen called me. ‘One who guides seekers of knowledge true’. I was _connection._ One city could read the records of another, one elvhen feel the memories of another. When the Veil fell upon us, I marked the end of all they knew.”

“We appreciate your aid. Thank you,” I said.

It shimmered in a way that might have been a nod. I discharged the Anchor and said, “Obviously next we’ve got to find this Darvaarad and corner the Viddasala there. But for now, let’s get out of here.” 


	12. the Anchor Worsens / A Night with Dorian

The new eluvian took us back to the courtyard, from which it was only a matter of minutes to return to the Crossroads and from there, the Winter Palace. This time it was dark out when we returned, even though it had seemed to be the same hour of late afternoon the entire time we were gone. As usual, once I’d removed my gear and done a cursory cleanup, I had to report to my advisors and update them. Dorian promised me he’d get food sent to his quarters once I managed to escape from the meeting.

"Your agents confirmed there are gaatlok barrels in Denerim's palace?" Josie was saying to Leliana.

"Yes, and in Val Royeaux and across the Free Marches. The Winter Palace is not the only target."

The air in our temporary war room was warm and still. I stifled a yawn and resisted the urge to massage my left arm; the wrist and elbow were aching dully. _Someone should really bring some chairs in here. Why don't we have chairs?_

"The Qunari are one order from destroying every noble house in the known world," Cullen said.

Josephine looked up from her tablet. "There is a bright side. Warning the ambassadors will remind them of the Inquisition's value."

"Not when the Inquisition is responsible for that threat," Leliana objected.

"I take it you have new information," I said to her.

"The elven servant handling the barrels confessed to working for the Qunari."

"But the servant was Orlesian," Josie said. "That implicates Orlais, not us."

"But the barrels arrived at the Winter Palace on the Inquisition's supply manifest," Leliana explained.

"Ugh. How are we supposed to fight a war when we can't even trust our own people?" Cullen demanded.

"Do you know who got the barrels onto the Inquisition manifest?" I asked Leliana. I had a low-level headache developing that seemed to be throbbing in sympathy with my left arm. Probably just fatigue… I hoped.

"Yes," Leliana said grimly. "Several of the Inquisition's elven workers have gone missing. I had their backgrounds checked. They joined the Inquisition after fleeing the chaos in Kirkwall."

"I remember when Kirkwall was at its worst," Cullen said. "Many of the city's elves converted to the Qun trying to find a better life."

"And the Qunari turned them into spies," Josie concluded.

"A few years ago we railed at the mages at Redcliffe for becoming corrupt," I reminded them. "We did the same to the Grey Wardens." I gave a short, humorless laugh. "Look at us now. But we can't change what happened, only how we react to it now."

"I fought to protect the Inquisition in this Exalted Council," Josephine said angrily. "And for what? So we could threaten and deceive those we claim to protect?"

"Once we locate the spies- " Cullen began.

Josie cut him off. "This isn't about the spies. _You_ hid the Qunari body. You've all but seized control of the Winter Palace!"

"We did what was right, not what was politically convenient," Cullen snapped back.

"Do you know what this has cost us with Orlais and Ferelden? They are planning to _dismantle_ us as we speak. And perhaps they are right," Josie looked away sadly.

 I'd been half listening, half wondering how long this bloody meeting was going to drag on when out of nowhere the Anchor spit and crackled loudly, flaring bright green and sending a bolt of pain shooting from my hand straight up into my elbow like someone had jammed a dagger into it. I couldn't help it; I howled in pain and doubled over as the muscles in my hand and forearm all cramped. Of course I looked up when it had settled down to a dull roar to find they'd all come around to my side of the table and were staring at me.   

"Ah, shit. Damn it," I swore as I clenched and unclenched my hand, trying to get the muscles to behave themselves. I forced my attention away from my arm and looked at my advisors. "We save Ferelden and they're angry. We save Orlais and they're angry. We close the breach - twice - and my own hand wants to kill me. Could one thing in this fucking world just stay fixed?" I sighed. "I need to get to the Darvaarad. You all can fight amongst yourselves once I'm-" _(dead)_   I paused, banished that thought, "once I'm back."

"Thank you, Inquisitor," Leliana said quietly.

Josie was looking at me worriedly. "Would you like us to inform the Exalted Council of the danger?"

 _I don't give a fuck_. "We can't finish this fight while worrying about the Exalted Council. For now, we keep this to ourselves," I said.

Josie nodded. "Understood, Inquisitor."

"I'll have guards ready at the eluvian in case the Qunari attack the palace," Cullen said.

"Maker watch over you," Leliana added.

"Thank you. All of you," I said. "Sorry about that. I suppose you should know the Anchor's been getting worse."

"Are you sure you should be heading back out right away?" Leliana asked.

"Maker's breath, I'm not doing any such thing. I've hit my limit for one day," I told them. "I want to get this over with before she makes her move, but if I go back right now I'll just get myself bloody killed. Just keep an eye on that eluvian overnight and we'll leave early tomorrow. If the last few trips are any indication it shouldn't be a problem; time seems to move…oddly there."

"A good plan," Cullen said approvingly. "We'll ensure nothing comes through."

"Then if you all don't mind, I'm going to get some rest." They assured me they didn't and I bid them good night. 

* * *

_An aside here that you’re welcome to skip. It goes along with my earlier discussion about healing potions and spells._  
_You may be wondering what’s been going on with the discussions about whether to do one more run, or my decision not to immediately race out to pursue the Viddasala when time was of the essence. After all, in the songs and tales the heroes just keep on going until the job’s done, with perhaps a short break around the campfire to add a bit of character to the story (certainly not to relieve themselves – as we’ve already established, that sort of thing just isn’t mentioned in heroic tales)._  
_What the stories and songs don’t tell you is that fighting is exhausting. Even when you’re primarily a distance combatant like I am, combat consumes massive amounts of energy. Yes, training, potions, terror and sheer adrenaline can all contribute to greater endurance, but not as much as the tales would have you believe. Armies can fight indefinitely; individuals, not so much._  
_Consider - I'm speaking from a mage's viewpoint, as that's what I know best - you're throwing offensive spells at the bad guys and trying to keep defensive spells up on yourself and as many of your mates as you can while having to keep track of where the bad guys are and what they're doing because they're certainly not standing around waiting for you to pick them off and also keeping track of where your people are so you don't accidentally hit or get hit by them … and that's when you're just up against a bunch of assholes in different-coloured armour. Add red Templars and/or Qunari and you've got bigger, nastier bad guys, including some that can do that rogue-stealth thing where you don't know they're there until they're planting a knife in your back. Add fade demons and you've really got a party: bigger and nastier than any Templar of any colour, more magical attacks, and the bastards with the stealth abilities? Huge, with really big claws (it was one of those that damn near killed me that one time my armour gave out. I can never quite decide which I despise more: those or giant spiders)._  
_When every other battle is like that, you can suck down all the lyrium and health potions you want, but it won't be long before you're running on fumes. Your entire goal becomes_ kill all the things as quickly as possible _. If you were to look into it, you'd probably find that most epic battles between smaller groups last less than thirty minutes. Without fresh backup, everyone's pretty well done for by then._

* * *

**###**

I was relieved and almost absurdly grateful to find Dorian waiting for me outside. "How did it go?" he asked, falling in beside me as we headed to his quarters.

"Oh, wonderful. The Qunari have smuggled gaatlok bombs into virtually every place of political power in southern Thedas with the help of elven spies from the Inquisition."

"How enterprising of them."

"It gets better. That got the three of them arguing with each other. Maker knows how long _that_ would have gone on, but _luckily_ the fucking Anchor decided to try and tear my arm open from the inside which of course meant it did the big, glowy sparking thing and made me yell. Got their attention, I'll tell you."

"I'm sure. Though I prefer a well-timed turn of phrase," he said lightly.

I laughed. "As do I, but the Anchor has shown itself to be boorish at practically every turn. Where are you taking me?" I noticed belatedly that we hadn't been going to his quarters after all.

"To see something." He led me to one of the balconies in 'our' section of the palace grounds that overlooked a great expanse of Orlesian countryside. There was a small, round table set there with two chairs. He reached into a container that had been placed beneath the table and pulled out a beer for me, a bottle of wine and a glass for himself. 

I sat and opened the beer, chilling it with a small cold spell. "All right, what am I supposed to be seeing? It's dark out."

"Patience, amatus," he said mysteriously. "It should just be a few minutes; you timed your exit impeccably."

We sat in companionable silence, waiting. The Anchor had lapsed back into quiescence and I felt myself starting to relax. A great bloom of coloured sparks appeared in the sky before us, followed by the crack of an explosion.

I turned to Dorian. "Fireworks? Is it some Orlesian holiday?"

"From what I gather, they're using the Exalted Council as an excuse. Something to impress and entertain the visiting nobility." He smiled slightly. "I've had my fill of looking at ugly things today; I thought you might feel the same."

"You thought right." I smiled back. "Thank you. This is nice. I haven't encountered a lot of nice lately."

He inclined his head graciously and we turned our attention back to the skies.

**###**

After the show we made our way to his quarters, where the promised meal was waiting for us. We made short work of it (or perhaps I should say I did; I suspect he'd already eaten while I was meeting with the others), then I set about unlacing my boots. The Anchor spat a bit at me, then settled back to its current resting state of Annoying Glow.

"Is it just me, or has that thing been getting exponentially worse," Dorian said, expression dead serious for once.

"It's not just you." I pulled my boot off and started on the other. "I've got this foolish glimmer of hope that the mysterious mage we've been chasing _is_ Solas and he'll give in and take the damned Anchor back or- or neutralize it or something but…" I yanked the other boot off and looked up at him. "I know it's not likely."

"Then…" he trailed off.

I sighed and slid down in the chair I was sitting in, leaning my head back so I was looking at the ceiling. "I'll probably have to lose the fucking hand. Maybe even the whole forearm. It's either that or let it eat me alive."

"I was thinking, there might be someone in Tevinter who could help." His voice didn't sound entirely confident.

"Nice thought," I sat back up "but we both know the amount of time that would take is likely a great deal more than I have."

"You're taking the idea awfully calmly," he said.

I snorted. "I'm terrified. For fucks sake, I'm left-handed. I don't want to lose it; I just want the sodding Anchor gone. But having hysterics about it is just going to make me feel worse and ensure I don't manage to at least find out if my little glimmer of hope has any possibility of being fulfilled."

“Come over here, amatus.” He patted the couch cushion beside him. As I levered myself out of the chair he added, “But do not throw yourself down, please. I have muscles that ache where I didn’t even know I _had_ muscles.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” I sat down smoothly and settled myself, his arm draped across my shoulders. “I’ve got that, plus my wrist and elbow are defaulting to constant ache when it doesn’t feel like someone’s sticking knives into them, and the actual worst part is my left side where I got injured. Feels like it happened three days ago, not three years.”

“Yet I know Magisters back home who fly into a towering rage if they’ve had to climb too steep a flight of stairs. Perhaps I should become one of those in my dotage.”

“You know, I can picture that.” I grinned. “You’d be very good at it.”

“I would, wouldn’t I,” he agreed.

We talked a bit about nothing in particular, and the next thing I remember is Dorian shaking me awake; I'd relaxed sufficiently that I'd fallen asleep.

"To be fair, I did too," Dorian added, "but now my left arm's gone numb, so if you wouldn't mind…"

I stood up, Dorian shook the feeling back into his arm and we went to bed. Dorian was out like a snuffed candle within minutes. Naturally, I couldn't properly get to sleep for the life of me now that I was officially supposed to. My left side hurt. My left arm alternated between hurting and buzzing like I was casting a low-level electricity spell. My mind wouldn't stop telling me I needed to go to sleep. If it wasn't doing that, it was cheerfully obsessing about the distinct probability that I would either lose my arm or my life tomorrow _(obviously we know which one happened)._   When I did drop off here and there, it seemed to be directly into nightmares that all started out replaying that fucking fade demon punching straight through my ribcage. Then they morphed into…I'm not sure what, but some of them involved Qunari and having to talk to politicians and running from something large and menacing, and at one point Solas was explaining to me that it was perfectly logical for my arm to be replaced by a Fade Arm because spiders. Then I'd wake up and start the whole thing over again.

…And the next thing I remember is Dorian shaking me awake again. I blinked at him in the green light, more surprised that I had _been_ asleep than anything. He looked cross and half-asleep.

"What's wrong? Did I make noise?" I asked muzzily.

He shook his head. "No, it's that." He pointed towards my left hand. "Is there something you can do to rein it in? Is there some reason it's _doing_ that?"

 _Green light..?_ "Oh, fuck me," I swore. My hand was glowing every bit as badly as it had in eluvian-world; the entire room was bathed in green light. I pointed at the far wall and discharged the Anchor as Dorian squinched his eyes shut. It didn't get rid of the glow entirely, but it did take it down several notches. "Sorry. I have no idea why it's bloody doing that. Unless it's because I've been sleeping like shit."

"That was ghastly." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more than it had been. "Like waking up in the Fade. You think it's reacting to your not sleeping?"

"More to the nightmares every time I _am_ sleeping," I clarified. "Well, that and it's just plain getting worse every time I so much as look at it. I feel like I've been awake for hours lying on rocks."

" _Venhedis_." He tried to stifle a yawn. "Want me to help? Perhaps if I cast a low-level sleep spell on you?"

I was trying to bite back a yawn of my own. "If anyone else suggested they do that to me I'd tell them to pound it but…Andraste's tits, I need the sleep and I don't need _that_ thing-" I waved my left hand vaguely "going off in the middle of the night. All right. I trust you."

"Thank you." We kissed and then he said, "You ought to try and get comfy first."

I gave him a withering look. " 'Comfy'?"

He blinked back at me innocently. "Just looking out for your welfare, amatus."

"Hah. I'll have you know I take no responsibility for whatever the Anchor does once you knock me out."

"Understood. Now stop fidgeting; I'd like to get back to sleep too, you know."

I sighed. "Well here's hoping it works. G'night."


	13. Day 3-A Little More Conversastion

Against all odds, it worked. I woke earlier than I would have liked, but because I had things to do, not because of pain, nightmares or the Anchor doing something horrible. I could hear Dorian moving around out in the sitting room and caught a whiff of Antivan coffee that convinced me to get out of bed. The aches and pains brought on by fatigue were all gone; even my left side felt perfectly normal. My left hand was glowing softly, but considering what the Anchor had been doing lately I welcomed that level of inactivity. I pulled on my clothes and followed the smell of the coffee.

Dorian was sitting in the armchair, eating a pastry and reading some sort of letter. I poured myself a coffee and took my own pastry as I sat on the couch. He looked up from his letter. "You're looking much better."

"I haven't consumed enough coffee to look much better yet," I said around a bite of pastry. "That from Tevinter?"

He nodded. "People suddenly want my _opinion_ on things. It's quite disconcerting."

"Welcome to the corridors of power," I said dryly.

Perhaps wisely, he didn't respond to that comment, instead asking, "Do I have time to answer some of these before it's time to pursue more mad Qunari through more elven ruins?"

"Mm hmm," I said as I drank coffee. "Just let me know when you're ready. Like I told my erstwhile advisors last night before I freaked them all out, time isn't the same there. Did you notice the last few times we may as well have been returning five minutes after we left the Crossroads?"

"I did at that," he said, looking intrigued. "I wonder if it's related to what Alexius tried to do in such a ham-handed manner."

"There's _some_ kind of time magic at work, certainly, but I get the feeling it's part of something bigger. Regardless, we should probably try to get going as soon as possible. Who knows how long this is going to bloody take."

"What if I suggested you take Vivienne on this run?"

I gaped at him. "You'd better be joking."

He grinned. "Fear not, amatus. I wouldn't dream of letting you do this without me."

“You shouldn’t do things like that to me when I’ve barely had any coffee,” I complained. “By the way – what you said about building our own eluvians: were you serious about that?”

He visibly brightened. “Absolutely. I see no reason why we shouldn’t pursue it.”

“Nor do I. I know they’re going to say _Oh, you can’t because it’s ELVEN magic!_ but bugger that. The two of us alone know enough about theoretical and practical magic to make something that would do the same thing even if the mechanics aren’t identical.”

“Have I mentioned lately how much I adore you?” he said.

I won't bore you with a recounting of the conversation that followed. It got more than a little technical and very theoretical and involved diagrams* and occasional pantomime in the effort to illustrate some concepts. Suffice to say we came up with some ideas that may be very workable and enjoyed ourselves immensely, as opportunities to talk magical theory don't come along very frequently any more. 

* * *

* Allow me a moment here to mourn the fact that those were the last drawings I ever did that looked like anything more than the scrawls of a five-year-old. What small amount of artistic talent I had disappeared along with my left hand. I've managed to force the right one to print legibly, but drawing seems to be utterly beyond its grasp. It's the little things like that that can be the most infuriating.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, we ended up talking much longer than we'd intended, only stopping when we were interrupted by a thunderous pounding on the door. A bass voice said, "You guys decent?" as the door opened. It was The Iron Bull, wondering if we were still going. We assured him the mission was still on and he went off to grab a bite to eat before we left. Dorian estimated it would take him about an hour to do his Tevinter stuff, so I volunteered to make any arrangements while he was busy. 

He lingered by the door as I was lacing up my boots, finally saying, "I'm going to sound like some sort of Rivaini hedge-wizard, but I've got a feeling that this trip is going to resolve everything one way or the other."

I looked up at him in surprise. "You too? I thought it was just me because of this shite with the Anchor. Which has been remarkably quiet and well-behaved this morning," I added, regarding it suspiciously.

"I'd noticed that and I trust it as little as you do." He shuddered dramatically. "I despise it when everything feels _portentous_. That level of drama is in poor taste anywhere outside of theatrical productions and epic ballads." He paused, then added, "And certain dinner parties in Minrathous."

"Not to mention if anything _does_ happen you have to put up with every second person running around informing everyone they _knew_ something was going to happen because they could _feel_ it," I agreed.

He laughed and went off to take care of his Tevinter business. I figured I'd better check in with my advisors, especially after the way the Anchor acted up in front of them the night before. First I stopped off at my sort-of quarters to refresh the spells on my coat again and check for messages. Leliana had left an update, so I read it while I spellcast:

 _The order has been given: all known double agents within the Inquisition are being neutralized, and all suspect agents are being isolated from any information coming in or going out of the Winter Palace._  
_We've received messenger birds back from multiple cities. The Inquisition is not the only organization compromised by Qunari spies. In Val Royeaux, gaatlok barrels were being put into position by low-placed servants in the Grand Cathedral and Council of Heralds. In Denerim, Qunari spies were revealed among low-ranking members of the city Watch. Starkhaven was seeded with spies among its own palace servants._  
_In light of our lack of oversight on this matter, I will understand if an agent better suited to the task is promoted in my place._

The rest was just a bit of back-and-forth between Leliana and the writer, with Leliana taking the blame and so on. It looked like the Viddasala's plot was seriously far-reaching, and the Inquisition wasn't the only organization with security holes you could drive a heavy cart with a full team of draft horses through. 

I did see it as yet another reason to disband, though. As we became increasingly rudderless, people got lazy. The first year after we defeated Corypheus I had very little to do with the day-to-day running of the Inquisition because there was still a seemingly endless parade of fade rifts that needed closing, and I was still the only one who could do that. There were travelling merchants who spent more time at Skyhold than I did that year, and I've probably been to more areas of southern Thedas than the majority of them.

During that time, Cassandra left to take up her duties as Divine, Varric returned to Kirkwall to write his book and resume his life, Vivienne went back to  Val Royeaux and her new position as Grand Enchanter, and we never did hear another thing from or about Solas; it was as if he'd never existed.

The past year I was there more, and I admit I should have done more to direct the Inquisition, but I discovered quickly that I really despise politics when they start becoming an ongoing duty rather than something to do on occasion in the breaks between more interesting activities. I also had no idea what direction the Inquisition _should_ take. All I ever heard from everyone boiled down to _we can do good things_. Which is true to a point, and a lovely thought, but without some sort of mandate -- or at least a clear vision -- nobody can seem to agree exactly which good things we should be doing and who gets to decide which things _are_ good.

With fewer demands keeping them at Skyhold, Bull and his Chargers started taking outside jobs, as did Sera with the Jennys. Blackwall left on his pilgrimage of atonement, and Cole came and went as he pleased. I know the only reason Dorian stayed was because I was there, and I stayed because everyone seemed to expect me to, even though my enthusiasm for the job was waning steadily. The more political my duties became, the more reasons I found to shirk them: A researcher needs help in the Frostback Basin? The Inquisition’s happy to lend a hand. Emergency in the Deep Roads? We’ll be right there for as long as it takes. Orlais and/or Ferelden want to discuss matters of state? Sorry – need some recovery time after nearly getting killed in the Frostback Basin and the Deep Roads so Dorian and I are off to anyplace-but-here for a week.* 

* * *

* Though there were times when I was in the field that I wondered if I didn’t in fact have a deep-set masochistic streak, being more willing to slog through swamps filled with hostile wildlife and even more hostile Avvar or descend into the Darkspawn-infested Deep Roads rather than sit through a few hours a day of political blathering. 

* * *

The final straw for me came when Dorian left for his trip to Tevinter; it made me realize how little remained at Skyhold that I actually enjoyed and got me thinking hard about what made sense for the future.

I admit it: I'd dropped the ball due to an increasing lack of interest. Everyone else concentrated on running their own little bailiwick near as I can tell, and we pretty much accepted anyone who wanted to join the Inquisition's ranks without much in the way of background checks unless there was something about the candidate that clearly aroused suspicion. This was at least partly due to the policy of inclusion I'd begun in the first place, but the whole thing had been getting unwieldy for quite some time. Time for it to die a clean death.

Those were the thoughts going through my mind when I found Leliana. She was sitting on a divan at one of the stone tables in the gardens. A chess board was set up on the table, but she was poring over a sheaf of notes. "Inquisitor. Is there something I can help with?" she half stood as I approached.

"Just getting prepared to take on the Viddasala," I replied. She slid down the couch so I could sit next to her. "Have your agents any news I should hear about?"

"There is activity in the Tirashan. Strange elves, like those in the Temple of Mythal. No news of Solas, however." Her eyes strayed down to my left hand, which was still glowing softly to itself. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I said. "It's been quiet all morning, which probably means the moment we step into the Crossroads it's going to try to eat my arm."

Her lips narrowed as she frowned slightly. "Then perhaps we shouldn't be asking you to return. You've already put your life at risk far more often than we had any right to expect."

I shrugged. "I think its little demonstration last night proves that simply staying away from things that might trigger it isn't going to work. It's getting worse, and like I told Dorian last night, I'd rather get this done before I have to lose the hand to get rid of the blasted Anchor."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she said.

I nodded. "If you don't mind my changing the subject, how are your nugs doing? Did you get any new ones?"

She brightened immediately. "Oh, yes! A litter was born just a month ago. We're weaning them right now. If you were hoping for one, I'm afraid they're already spoken for."

"Perhaps the next litter," I smiled at her. "Your nug breeding sounds like more than just a hobby now."

"It has certainly expanded," she agreed. "And who knows -- if the Inquisition ends, there are worse things to do with my time. I find being with the little ones soothing."

"I'd best be going," I said as I stood up. "But I mean it about the next litter."

"Shall I put you down for a black one?" She grinned at me.

I laughed. "You know me too well. See you later, Leliana. By the way, have you seen Cullen?"

"Down by the gazebo, playing with that hound of his."

I waved my thanks and headed that way. They were easy enough to spot; the other denizens of the Winter Palace were giving them a wide berth, probably more worried about dog hair than any potential danger. Cullen nodded greetings as I approached; the dog gave me a dignified _wuff._

"Ready for the final assault?" he said cheerfully.

"Nearly. Dorian's got a few things to do and Bull's eating. I haven't tracked down Sera yet. Anything new to report?"

"Everything was quiet last night, thankfully," he replied then shook his head. "You know, we were permitted soldiers here, but our every move is watched. Some things never change."

"Certainly not in the foreseeable future," I agreed. "Is there any news from Ferelden? How's your family?"

"My sister Mia keeps me informed." He smiled slightly. "As I understand, she's training my nephew to best me at chess."

"All good news then?"

"Not all, but most of it is, and that's good enough. How about you? Have you heard from your family?"

"Not recently, no." I changed the subject. "Do you remember the first time we came to the Winter Palace?" 

"All too well," he said grimly. "I've already answered a half-dozen questions about my personal life. The reason we're here is because we made a difference. That's worth enduring the political small talk."

I made a non-committal noise. "I'd better get my team together and head out if there's nothing else."

"If you don't mind my asking, how's your hand doing?"

"Better than last night; how it'll act on the other side remains to be seen."

"Well, for what it's worth, I wish you luck," he said.

I nodded my thanks and turned my attention to finding Sera. I found Varric first; he seemed to have taken a liking to the area around the fountain. "Everything going all right so far?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Qunari plots to blow up southern Thedas, something weird involving elves and this mark trying to devour my hand aside, I can't complain."

He half-smiled at me. "There're times you really remind me of Hawke."

"Any word from him?"

"I got a message from -- well, best not to name an entire chain of smuggling syndicates in polite company. Anyway, Weisshaupt is apparently in the _special_ kind of mess that only appears when Hawke shows up. I'm not entirely sure how it'll all play out, but my money's on Hawke walking away from the Wardens' fortress as it explodes."

"And then you can write the book about it," I finished, then looked around. "Speaking of which, I'm surprised no one from the Council of Heralds wants your autograph."

"You _just_ missed them; Duke Cyril keeps asking me for spoilers for my next book." He toyed with the cuff of his left shirt sleeve. "So you think today's the last push to get the Viddasala?"

"I can't say absolutely, but we're hoping it is," I replied.

"You sure you couldn't use a few extra bodies along?"

I shook my head. "Much as I'd like to say yes, every bit of this one's been best suited to a small squad and I'm hesitant to fuck with what's been working, you know?" At his nod, I continued, "Besides, I wouldn't want to take the chance of depriving Kirkwall of its new Viscount. If you don’t mind my asking, I don't understand how you could just _become_ a Viscount."

"Well, you know how it is in the Marcher states," he said. "When the ruler of one dies and there's no heir, the nobles of the city pick another ruler."

"Which is almost invariably another noble," I interjected. "It's bad enough trying to get the families to share power amongst each other, let alone cede any to an outsider."

He nodded. "Only none of Kirkwall's nobles actually _want_ the throne. Most of them think it's cursed, actually. They can't leave it empty, though, or some other state like Starkhaven or Ansburg will probably invade. I complained about the empty office when it interfered with my reconstruction efforts. They took _that_ as volunteering."

"So Bran used to be Viscount and now he just… follows you around?" I puzzled.

" _Provisional_ Viscount," Bran said from several feel away where he was once again skulking about within earshot.

"Pretty much," Varric acknowledged. 

"With a permanent appointee finally in the Viscount's office, I am free to return to my post as seneschal," Bran sniffed.

"He means: _My true calling is arrogantly telling people they can't talk to the Viscount_ ," Varric clarified. "He's good at it, too."

That familiar electrical itching crawled sluggishly up my forearm; apparently the Anchor was waking up. "I've got to get going, Varric. It was good talking to you," I said.

"I'll be here if you need me."

I headed over to the Gilded Horn. Cole was out front of it. I greeted him and he responded, "It was the same boy. His mother on the ship, his father in their homeland. He grew up lonely. Or didn't." I just nodded cordially and continued on my way, accustomed to those non-sequiturs. It made any conversation with him interesting, if somewhat baffling.

Bull was inside the tavern with some of his Chargers, finishing breakfast, but Sera was nowhere to be seen so I kept going, resisting the urge to stop for one more cup of coffee. She wasn't on the long balcony area where Dorian and I had watched the fireworks the night before, but Cassandra was, and I couldn't very well blow right past her so I stopped for a moment, asking her if she'd seen Sera.

"Not today; have you checked her quarters?" I said I hadn't yet, but was on my way there. "If you just need an archer, I suppose you could take Varric," she suggested.

"Like I told him, aside from a superstitious feeling that I don't want to change personnel now, I couldn't think of possibly depriving Kirkwall of their brand new Viscount," I replied.

"How did Varric of all people become the Viscount of Kirkwall?" she said, and sighed, "A mystery for the ages."

"So, you've been quite busy," I said. "I've barely seen you for ages."

"Ugh," she ughed.

I chuckled. "That bad?"

"Being Divine is like trying to herd a field of cats into a lake for a much-needed bath," she groaned. "Even so, I would be pleased with my progress if it weren't for all the attendants picking over me constantly. And the _hat_!"

"It really is dreadful," I agreed.

"Needless to say, I'm more than happy for this diversion."

"What do you think of the Exalted Council?" I asked.

"They are frightened of your power and there is no longer a hole in the sky to remind them it was needed," she said.

"They might be right," I suggested.

She frowned. "Do not say that near them unless you want to give them the scent of blood. Even so, I would wait and see where this leads. Calmer heads may yet prevail."

I gave a cynical laugh. "When has that ever been the case?"

She grinned back. "I'm an optimist. Just ask Varric."

"On that note, I really must go. I already put off going after the Viddasala last night to get some sleep," I told her.

"If you hadn't, we may have tied you down and forced you to," she teased. "Go. And Maker go with you."

I finally found Sera in her quarters, yawningly packing extra bow strings into her belt pouch. "Hey, you," she greeted me, "Time to go save the world again, is it?"

"As soon as Dorian finishes some Tevinter business and everyone armors up, yes," I confirmed as I threw myself into her armchair.

"Your hand stopped doing that shite, then?" She didn't quite succeed in masking her worry.

"Nothing since last night." I held up my hand and glared at it. "But as you can see, it's determined to light up any room it happens to be in."

"Not. Good." She shuddered and busied herself with her equipment for a few minutes before turning to look at me searchingly.

"What?" I finally said after she'd stared long enough to make me uncomfortable. "Do I have something on my face everyone's been too polite to tell me about?"

She giggled raspily. "No. I just- look, I'm not, like, getting all _yay, magic!_ or anything but I was wondering: That thing you do with your coat. Can you do that with anything?"

It took me a moment to figure out what she meant. "You mean magically hardening it?" She nodded. "Yes, I can do that to most things, within reason. It wouldn't be to the level of my coat because I've been working on that for years, but it would be enough to give whatever you wanted done a bit of an edge." 

"Does it take long?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Depends. I can do a simple spell that takes a few minutes, but like I said, I've been working on my coat for years." I looked at her in feigned shock and grinned widely. "Why Sera, are you asking me to do some _spellcasting_ for you?"

She actually blushed. "No need to start taking the piss. Arse. I just thought it maybe could help. Never mind."

"No, no, no - I'm actually flattered, Sera," I hastened to tell her. "I'm just pleased you trust me enough to ask me to do that. And it's a very good idea."

"Well…okay then," she said, mollified. "Like I said, don't you go thinking I'm all _magic is brilliant_ 'cause I'm not, but you're a Jenny now and if I'm gonna trust any mage it's you and I've seen the sorts of hits that coat of yours takes. Anyway, I already say okay to the clean-up spells."

"So we can agree you're okay with _practical_ magic," I suggested.

"Only if it's you doing it," she amended.

"What about Dorian?"

She thought about it. " _Augh_ , Fine, then, him too. But that's it. Too many of you turn into complete nutters or get all creepy and blood-magicky."

“Not quite true, but alright,” I said. “So what did you want hardened?”

“Bow strings. I go through bloody mountains of them. But they can’t actually be _hard_ , right. ‘Cause then they wouldn’t work,”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s the same as my coat: It wouldn’t be much use if the leather was perfectly stiff. ‘Hardened’ isn’t to be taken literally.”

“I know, I was just saying,” she said, then laughed. “Everything all _hard_ and _stiff_. So stupid.”

I just shook my head, well aware how close we were to a series of perfectly awful double entendres. “Hand me the bow strings and I’ll see what I can do.”

The bow strings weren’t exactly the same as leather, but they were close enough in both composition and intent that I was able to easily adapt the simplest spell I used on my coat: one that simply strengthened the material without sacrificing its pliability. Within fifteen minutes I handed her back half a dozen of them.

She inspected them carefully and said, "They don't feel any different."

"You won't notice it until you use them," I replied. "They'll still need replacing eventually, but they should last quite a bit longer."

"You should be able to _tell_ when something's been magicked," she complained.

I shrugged. "If you want, I can change their color so you know which ones are which."

"Now you're just playing silly buggers."

"I suppose I am, a bit," I admitted. "But I _could_ change the color."

I expected a smart-ass comeback of some sort, but instead Sera said, "You get a completely different look on your face when you're doing magic stuff. Not in combat because then everyone's just all _grrrrr_ , but like when you were doing the bowstrings just now. You really love it, don't you?"

I blinked in surprise and answered without even thinking about it. "Yes. I really do."

"Huh." She gave me an unreadable look then bounced to her feet. "We should go, Inquisitor Herald. The viddy-whatsis is gonna come through the mirror to us if we keep faffing about. And thanks for the bow strings."

As if in agreement, the Anchor sent a sizzle of not-quite-pain up my forearm. I followed her out the door and, after a side trip so I could get my armor and staff, we headed to the eluvian. Bull was already there and Dorian showed up moments later. 

"Everyone ready to take down the Viddasala once and for all?" I said.

"More than ready," Bull answered.

I walked up to the eluvian and the Anchor suddenly roared back to life, spitting green fire as it sent a spike of pain from my palm straight up to my elbow; it felt like someone had just pounded an ice pick into it. I swore - loudly - and stood very still, massaging my left elbow as I waited for the pain to abate. Finally I turned to find the others staring at me worriedly. "I suspect time will be of the essence," I said gruffly. "This whole business with the Anchor is -- if you'll pardon the pun -- getting out of hand, and you've all seen what it does once we cross over." I turned back to the mirror, saying as if it were an afterthought, "You any good at field amputations, Bull?" and stepped through without waiting for an answer.


	14. The Final Confrontation - Qunari Fortress

Dorian came through first and glared at me. "That wasn't funny."

I examined my hand and looked up at him. "It wasn't meant to be."

"Right," Sera said brightly. "Last time to be legend." She laughed. "Try to keep up."

"It's been an honor to kick asses beside you all," Bull added. "Anaan."

We trudged (except Sera, of course) to the eluvian that led to the Darvaarad and stepped through. We emerged onto a stonework plaza that looked to be an outlying section of a large castle complex. Wherever we were in Thedas, it was nighttime. The full moon hung huge and bright overhead (I'd like to say it was baleful for dramatic effect, but it was really rather pretty). We were on one of two raised areas situated on either side of a main causeway up to the castle proper. Scattered around us were several broken eluvians and we could see more over on the other one; the Qunari may have cracked the code to access several of them, but it looked like they'd cracked many more eluvians to do it.

Unfortunately, we weren't able to take time to absorb the scene before us, because there were also a handful of Qunari milling about, and like always, the moment they noticed us, they attacked. At the same time I felt the unmistakeable feeling of the Anchor building up energy and, for the first time in over half a day, discharged it. Bull charged into the midst of them, Sera fired arrows, and Dorian and I took turns nailing them with magical attacks. The battle ended quickly, and we didn't even have to deploy any of our bee grenades.

Having confirmed there was nothing of interest on the platform we'd entered upon, we crossed over to the other where there looked to be some sort of outdoor research station. Front and center of it was an undamaged -- if unfunctioning -- eluvian. There was a functional veilfire container, and tables with scientific and/or magical apparatus on them. There were also piles of notes. One set of pages in particular caught my eye. I called, "Dorian! Come look at this."

He came over and glanced at them, saying, "Look at what? The writing's incomprehensible."

"Not the writing; look at the diagrams."

He studied a few sheets and his eyes widened. "Shit. Kai, is this what I think it is?"

I nodded, unable to keep from grinning. "Exploded diagrams of eluvians. Just what we were talking about needing. I'm confiscating these."

"We'll need copies," he said with equal excitement.

I discharged the Anchor absently. "Halamshiral has scribes. So does any good-sized city."

"Um - guys," Bull said behind us. "Remember -- Dragon's Breath? End of the world?"

I nodded impatiently. "I know. World'll still be ending in a few minutes. Can you read any of this?"

He looked a few sheets over. "Not a word. They're scientific notations of some sort, but that's all I can tell you. I'm not even sure that's Qunlat."

"I figured as much." I folded up the sheaf of notes and stuck them in an inner pocket of my coat. "No matter; we can interpret the diagrams. At least whoever wrote this is a good artist. All right -- we're done. Let's get back to saving the world, shall we?"

We left the platform and started down the main causeway to the castle. I wondered where in Thedas we were now; all the statuary depicted Qunari in various heroic poses.

We'd gone barely a quarter of the distance when the Anchor spit green fire and bit viciously at my hand and forearm. It was bad enough that I yelped in pain and had to stop dead in my tracks for a moment as an odd wave of dizziness hit me.

"Are you all right?" Dorian asked anxiously.

"…We should hurry," I answered. I had the feeling the cursed thing was taking more of a toll on me than I'd realized. I started walking again and they fell in beside me. I could hear Sera muttering a quiet litany of _shiteshiteshite_ under her breath. Part of me felt like joining in.

We'd barely gotten started when we saw movement at the far end of the concourse. "Here they come," I said. Worst plan they could have had, running at us like that, considering three of the four of us were primarily distance fighters. We mowed down most of them before they got close enough to touch us, and the one remaining idiot who did manage to charge within spitting distance was flattened by The Iron Bull before he knew what hit him.

The concourse ended in a staircase leading up to the main castle area. We quickly checked the dead Qunari on the landing for orders and anything else of value.

"I wish I could say I'm surprised the Viddasala wants to murder everyone, but it makes sense," Bull said. "We tell stories about how corrupt the South is. Who wouldn't want to kill the _evil_ nobles and save the people?"

The long, curving flight of stairs ended in an archway, beyond which was a courtyard. To the right and up a bit was some sort of gate- or guard house. Straight ahead on the other side of the courtyard was a building that was either a separate tower or perhaps a wing of the castle. There were more large statues of heroic Qunari in the courtyard itself. 

"Watch the patrol. You'll want to take them out one at a time - fast - or we'll have a mess on our hands," Bull murmured.

I could have made a comment about _him_ now stating the obvious, but I didn't bother. We conferred briefly, watching the patterns of the few guards patrolling, then picked our first. Sera stealthed herself to get into a position she liked, then Dorian and I both hit the guard with freezing spells. While he was struggling to shake off the effects of those, Sera and Bull took him out. Even though I thought we could have done it more quietly, the other guards didn't even notice.

I dashed across the courtyard to the building on the other side, but of course the door was locked. We'd have to try to find another entrance, which meant disposing of more patrolling guards. The second guard went down in the same seamless manner as the first. The third managed to shout out to his three companions in the guard house, but it didn't matter. Whoever had trained those guys hadn't put any stock whatsoever into the value of adapting or improvising in combat; they were all apparently students of the run-at-you-and-try-to-run-you-through school of fighting. I was discharging the Anchor more for the need of keeping it under control than for the extra protection it afforded.

We jogged up a flight of stairs to our left, took out a single Qunari that was standing at the top, and saw that the upper entrance to the tower building was open. Just inside the doorway another lone Qunari was working on something at a table; he never knew what hit him (if that sounds cruel, please remember that _every single Qunari_ we'd encountered had tried to kill us on sight).

The tower building seemed to be some sort of combination storage facility for curious items and someone's workshop/research station. I pocketed a key lying on one of the tables, then we had a look around the rest of the workshop. On one table was "Red lyrium." I shook my head. "Do the Qunari have any idea what they're dealing with?"

"Of course. But they're _special_ and _careful_ and nothing bad will happen," Sera said.

There was a ladder going up and another leading down. We chose up first, and entered a room much like the first, but smaller and with a balcony. An entire, mural-covered wall was leaning against one wall of the room. On the table in front of it was a note that said _Excavated mural. Believed to be a self-portrait by Fen'Harel._ The mural showed a very large wolf being led by a skinny, bald elf in robes.

"Huh." Sera looked unimpressed. "Which one's supposed to be Fenny? The elf or the wolf?"

"Both?" I hazarded a guess.

"I really wish you hadn't pointed out how much those portraits all look like Solas," Dorian complained. "That's all I can see now."

"We all share your pain," Bull said dryly.

The room also contained shelves loaded with books, potions and containers, tables cluttered with scrolls, another broken eluvian, a statue of a halla with a veilfire container before it and one of a dragon, also with the veilfire container.

I noticed there was an obelisk out on the balcony much like the one we'd just seen in the shattered library. Sure enough, it had something written on it: _One sees the hunter/One flees from it/One hunts it in turn/One outwits them all_. I read it aloud to the others, adding, "What do you want to bet we find another wolf statue downstairs?"

"Let's go see," Bull said, leading the way to the ladder.

The ground floor was apparently a repository for every curiosity the Qunari had been able to lay their hands on. Taking up a chunk of the room was indeed another wolf statue with the expected box between its front paws. There was also an intact astrarium (how and why they managed to move it there is beyond me), a glowing pyramid just like one we'd seen in an icy cave in Emprise de Lion (that one had a warning in front of it to the effect of 'don't touch my pyramid'; the plethora of bodies embedded in the ceiling above the pyramid suggested what had happened to those who didn't heed the warning), shelves containing scrolls, skulls, statuary, tinctures, and books, machines of mysterious purpose… in some ways it reminded me of the room at Skyhold where I was storing all my souvenirs, although the Qunari had been far more determined to amass large, heavy objects than I.

There was also a statue of an owl with a veilfire container before it. " 'One sees the hunter'?" Dorian suggested. I threw a magical charge at the container and lit the veilfire. 

"The second two are on the top floor, right?" Sera groaned. "Because of course they are and of course we're going to solve this stupid puzzle."

"I'll go up," I said. "You can wait here; the wolf's clearly the last one."

"A word of advice - stay away from the glowing pyramid," I heard Dorian saying as I climbed the ladder to the upper floors. I reached the top, discharged the Anchor, lit the veilfire for the halla ( _flees from it_ ), then the dragon ( _hunts it in turn_ ) and returned to the ground floor to the wolf ( _outwits them all_ ). Its eyes were now glowing and the box opened at a touch. Inside was a dagger.

"How nice, a weapon none of us use," Dorian observed.

"See, I told you lot it's a stupid puzzle," Sera declared.

"It's quite a nice one. Cole might like it," I said.

"Or it could get you some good coin," Bull added.

"Or that," I agreed as I stuck it in another pocket of my coat. "After all, when the Inquisition ends, I'm out of a job." 

We left the research tower and crossed the plaza to the gatehouse and the door it controlled. "That's quite the door," I murmured, looking at the massive construct of metal and gears. It was solid metal, round, taller than Iron Bull, and further protected by some sort of clockwork mechanism that raised and lowered four bloody great spear-like bars that were set equidistant around the circumference of the door.

"Do you suppose they're trying to keep things out or in?" Dorian mused.

"I wonder if there's a service entrance," I said.

"Might as well try the gatehouse first, assuming that key you grabbed is the one we need," Bull pointed out.

I nodded and got moving, discharging the Anchor before it could start complaining. "Just curious whether the back door's as impregnable or whether that thing was more to impress than out of any sort of practicality."

We entered the gatehouse. I leafed through their logbook quickly in case there was anything it might help to know, but aside from some rather amusing complaints the gatekeeper had, there was nothing. The mechanism for opening the door looked impressive -- three large wheels shaped like ship's wheels attached to a central axis -- but the process itself was quite simple. You just spun each until the spear-locks it controlled pulled back so they weren't blocking the door. It was a little fiddly figuring out the pattern, but within a few minutes the door clanged open easily.

The door opened on an antechamber leading to an arched doorway. Through that were closed doors straight ahead and to the right. On the left was a flight of stairs that led to an open area; some sort of common room from what we could see of it. We tried the door to the right first, but it was locked. We didn't get a chance to check the second door right away, because as we were heading to it, a Qunari soldier rounded the corner from that downstairs room and saw us; it turned out the lower level was the barracks for a squad of soldiers, all of whom rushed to attack us at the shout from their squadmate.

The fight was fierce but short. The fact that the area wasn't particularly large worked against the Qunari; given the size of the ox-men, the tight quarters interfered with their ability to manoeuvre easily. We were able to pick off several of them purely because they couldn't get around Bull to attack us, and with them jammed together like that, our area-of-effect spells were particularly effective, as were Sera's arrows. Even if any of us missed, we were bound to hit something. 

Once the battle was over, we naturally had a look 'round. There was a longish set of instructions for newcomers that held some interest. "Hey, Bull," I said as I read it, "when your people make gaatlok, are there normally animals involved?"

He looked at me blankly. "Animals? Not that I've heard of. It's an alchemical process."

"Not any more. Looks like the secret to this 'Dragons' Breath' involves milking the venom of an animal they've been keeping here Maker knows how long for that purpose. You'll all be pleased to know that once they've finished with it, they intend to kill it quickly and painlessly."

Dorian frowned. "One animal? With all the gaatlok containers we've seen, let alone the ones they've deployed around the south? Either a little goes a _very_ long way or that's a very large animal."

"Or both," I amended. "They're quite specific here about it being a single specimen." The Anchor sent a small stab of pain up my arm and I rubbed absently at my left elbow. "How would venom speed up an alchemical process that much?"

"Who knows?" Sera shrugged, clearly bored with the direction the conversation was taking. "Are there keys to that locked room or are we just going to faff about sciencing?"

I laughed and went to check the recessed storage(?) areas off the main room. One contained at least three more gaatlok bombs. The next held a chest that was happily unlocked; inside were a belt and a key. I handed Bull the belt and we went back up to the locked door. Our key opened it. Inside were a few more gaatlok containers, a set of shelves with nothing we could use on them, and a large chest that contained a lot of utterly useless uniform parts and one very nice amulet that practically vibrated with protection magic of some sort. I fastened the amulet around my neck and left the rest. 

Curiosity allayed, we went back through the barracks area (pausing briefly to blow up the gaatlok containers there) and deeper into the castle. From the barracks we emerged into a hallway with a large, open balcony to the left. It probably afforded spectacular views when it wasn't dark out. There was equipment set up on it to do minor smithing and weapon crafting. At the end of the balcony area, the hallway continued straight through an archway, just before which was an intersecting hall that led to the right. I was about to say something when the Anchor sent a tremendous bolt of pain from its center in my hand straight up into my elbow. It drove whatever I'd been thinking straight out of my mind as it spit green light and followed the pain up with a crawling sizzle of electricity. Once again, I couldn't hold back the shout; it fucking hurt too much.

"That sounded bad," Dorian understated. "Um- hold on a little longer."

I wanted to say _for what?_ , but I knew he was just worried and helpless to do much of anything. I could say the same of myself. I just nodded and stood very still for a moment as another wave of not-quite-dizziness hit me, then just as quickly went away. "Straight ahead first?" I suggested. The others agreed, though at that moment they probably would have agreed to anything I said.

We went through the archway and found ourselves in a good-sized room that was clearly being used as a study. It had four recessed areas along its walls, each of which contained full bookshelves and before those, a desk that was just as clearly being used regularly. At the far end was a slightly raised area with a larger desk overseeing the entire room. 

I walked over to the closest desk and scanned the top. To my surprise, I caught sight of a familiar seal in a stack of papers. I fished it out and sat on the edge of the desk, ostensibly to study my find. Truth was, I felt like I needed to sit for a moment. It worried me, because the feeling of exhaustion nipping around the edges of my awareness went deeper than the sort of tired you feel after spending half the day in running battles. It felt like the kind you get when you're sick. I pulled my water flask out of my pocket and took a drink as I read.

"This is from our Josie," I told the others, and read it aloud:

_To the Honorable Salasari, Triumvirate of the Qun:_

_On behalf of the Inquisition, I must humbly inquire as to the hostile actions of your agents in Halamshiral. We can only view the attacks by Ben-Hassrath agents upon our officers and the infiltration and sabotage of the Exalted Council at Halamshiral as the prelude to a declaration of war. If the Qunari people do not wish to provoke retaliation from the Chantry, these hostilities must cease at once._

_Respectfully, Ambassador Josephine Montilyet_

"Then there's a bunch of stuff in Qunlat…now this is interesting:

_To Ambassador Josephine Montilyet of the Inquisition,_

_The Triumvirate of the Qunari people wishes to assure you that despite the loss of the dreadnought Berethlok and its crew of one hundred souls in a failed joint mission with the Inquisition two years past, military action has not been approved against the Inquisition. No one in Par Vollen has authorized actions of any kind involving the Exalted Council. Nor will they._  
_We are seeking out the Ben-Hassrath priest who appears to be leading this operation without our consent. Once she is located, we assure you that these hostile actions will cease."_

I looked up at them. "Does this mean our Viddasala's gone rogue?"

"Might explain why that letter looks like someone tried to crumple it up and chuck it," Sera said.

"Or they could be lying," Dorian added.

"Depends if the Inquisition ever got a copy of it or not," Bull pointed out. "It's also not unheard of for the Triumvirate to disapprove of something while tacitly approving."

Sera snickered, "You mean like, _if you fuck this up we never heard of you_   approval."

"You catch on fast," he said.

I heaved myself off the desk, making it look more like an energetic hop. and checked the one across from it. Whoever manned this desk was tidy and organized to a fault and there wasn't one interesting thing we could see. _Fuck it._ Although the two desks closer to the big one looked more intriguing, I skipped them for the moment. Turned out to be worth it: one of the first things I found was a paper with the title spelled out in clean, block capitals - _Dragon Breath Plan._ The rest was all written in Qunlat (naturally), and contained a number of complicated diagrams, including blueprints of Halamshiral and several other southern palaces and fortresses. The desk also contained a large, real dragon skull mounted on a metal stand.

"Morrigan said the key to an eluvian could be anything," I said, "Including knowledge or power.  So they're stockpiling both. That's how they got the keystone and opened so many of the eluvians we've seen."

"Hopefully they don't have any more ancient magic crap to throw at us," Bull growled, then said more cheerfully, "That dragon skull would make a wicked armchair, though. Maybe we could take it back to Skyhold after this."

"You already _have_ a dragon skull," I said.

"Yeah, but think how much better two would be."

"Look at all these floor plans," Dorian said, riffling through the stack on the desk, "They've been working on this scheme for a while."

"Yet somehow everyone will find a way to blame the Inquisition," I predicted, discharging the Anchor towards the doorway. "Anyway, while a lot of things in here look interesting, we don't have the time. I'm not seeing anything worth poking about more."

We headed out of the room, though I saw Bull casting a last covetous glance at that dragon skull. We turned left down the corridor. It appeared this section may have been used as a prison area; at least, there were a few chambers that had the bars and locked doors of a prison cell. There were currently no prisoners, though, just a box with a few potions and supplies that we liberated for our own use. The corridor turned sharply left again and ended at a heavy door. We could faintly hear noises coming from behind it. I tried the handle and found it unlocked, so with a nod to the others, I eased it open and stepped through.

There was a Qunari in the next room, but he didn't notice us entering. Not surprising, as his attention was focused at the sight through the archway on the other side of the room, which led to some sort of large chamber that ended in an equally large gate to the outside. The noise was coming from there. 

"Dragon's Breath is…an actual dragon," I said as I leaned on the railing circling the first level of the room. The beast was a full grown adult, female judging from its size, coloured rather festively in yellow and green. It was also clearly angry. How they'd managed to capture her in the first place I couldn't imagine. Facing off against her were a number of Qunari; it was impossible to tell how many given our narrow field of view.

Then the Qunari turned and saw us. He called out something in Qunlat, and who should emerge from a doorway onto a balcony above and to the left of us but the Viddasala herself. She said "Inquisition!", then a lot more something in Qunlat, and a troop of warriors marched up next to her then stopped, waiting for the inevitable order to kill us.

"Hissrad, now. _Please_. Vinek kathas."

It took me a moment to realize she was addressing The Iron Bull. _Fuck me, she's trying to get him to turn on us._ I was quite sure he was content with his choice to side with us, but there was such hatred pounded into good Qunari for the Tal-Vashoth, was it possible...?

I needn't have worried. He looked straight at her and said, "Not a chance, _ma'am_."

Of course she gave the order to kill us and fucked back off through the doorway. The dragon chose that moment to refresh its attacks on the Qunari trying to contain it, so between the roars and shouting I missed a bit of what Bull said next, but I clearly heard, "… when this is over, drinks are on me. Probably a lot of them." He grinned at all of us. "All right - break time's over. Let's do this!"

We'd actually had a moment to ready ourselves this time, as her squad had to get down the stairs before they could attack, so we were nicely prepared when they started pouring through a door on the level below us (that castle architect had a real thing for rooms with multiple levels in them). I discharged the Anchor and felt an odd crawling sensation along with the usual. To my surprise, the closest Qunari to us flinched and staggered back slightly. It appeared as though the thing was now dealing damage as well as granting us temporary invulnerability. Too bad it was slowly killing me in the process.

Much like the battle in the barracks, this one was fairly quick but intense. The dance steps were all the same, but the orchestra had doubled its tempo, if I may be a bit poetic about it. The speed with which I was recovering enough to cast the big, kick-ass spells in my repertoire was nearly miraculous, but as it was a result of the Anchor getting stronger, I had very mixed feelings about it. Its strength was increasing exponentially; you didn't have to be a genius to know that couldn't continue indefinitely. Anyway, we managed to mow down the troop of Qunari with minor, easily-healed damage to ourselves; fortunately, the ox-men in the dragon chamber were far too busy dealing with the beast to notice anything else.

We gave the room a quick search, but didn't find anything more exciting than a sign posted containing instructions for preparing the primers for the gaatlok bombs. I blew up all of the bombs they had stashed in the room with some well-placed fire spells Just Because. Rather than go hurtling into the chaos in the dragon chamber, we went out a side door that emerged on an outside plaza. There was a stairway nearby that led up to the dragon chamber, but the plaza itself was blessedly empty.

I sat on the stairs, feeling weirdly enervated, like you do when you've just come down with a bad cold and the rest of the symptoms haven't manifested yet. It was the Anchor, of course. Had to be getting all that extra power from somewhere, and apparently whatever it was leaching from the Fade wasn't enough.

Dorian stood near me at the bottom of the stairway, trying not to look like he was hovering. Bull was wiping down his blade and Sera was leafing through a book she'd picked up nearby. "It's a sort of logbook the dragon handler was keeping," she told us. "They're keeping her under control with fire. Bet they'd shit if we put their fires out."

Bull grinned at me. "So, Boss, are we gonna fight the dragon or what?"

I took a drink of water and rubbed my left elbow, which was back to its default setting of dull ache. "You know, if it's at all possible, I'd like to try to release her."

Bull's good eye widened as the grin disappeared. "Release her?!"

"They've been torturing her. The way I see it, if we kill her it's flat-out murder."

"You do know she's just as likely to kill _us_ as any of them if she gets a chance," Bull pointed out.

I shrugged. "Not her fault. She may be big as a house, but she's still just a wild animal. I suggest we try to stay out of her way as much as possible."

" _If_ we can pull it off without getting killed ourselves, I'm for it," Dorian said. "Not only would we be freeing a prisoner and shutting down their gaatlok factory, but it would absolutely _incense_   the Qunari."

Sera looked up from the logbook. "Her name's Ataashi. They tried drugging her to keep her under control, but they said it messed up her venom so it was no good to make gaatlok with. So now they use fire and pry bars and shite while they drain her with needles. Even some of their own people don't like what they're doing." She shook her head, frowning. "They pulled so much … life - or something - out of her. That's not- _argh!_ How'd they ruin fighting a dragon?"

Bull sighed, but didn't look very upset. "Fine, we'll try to free the poor dragon. Then we can trade in our weapons for kittens and save the world with fluffiness."

Dorian chuckled, "I don't know -- have you ever had a kitten dig its claws into you? I imagine if you threw one in someone's face it could be rather traumatic."

Sera dropped the book as she looked up, eyes wide and shining. "You mean if they got a face full of pu-"

"Sera!" I cut her off and she dissolved into wild giggles. "All right, anyone needs to drink some water or a potion or what have you, let's do that and get moving." I stood and was relieved to find that sick feeling had nearly disappeared. 

Dorian turned to me and quietly asked how I was doing. "I don't know," I told him honestly. "Better than ten minutes ago, but I've got some strange shit going on. I don't _think_ I'm likely to drop dead quite yet, though."

"If you do I shall never forgive you," he threatened. "Now if you'll excuse me a moment, I need to what-have-you."

A few minutes later we climbed the steps to the open doorway to the dragon chamber. "Let's at least try to avoid notice for as long as possible. They've got their hands full with the dragon, so we may be able to get a good idea of the layout before they're on top of us. Hopefully there won't be any last-minute surprises, given we don't know where the Viddasala's gotten herself to."

"Why do the pretty ones have to run their mouths?" Sera complained, "Dragon first, then right up her business!"

On the theory that either running or sneaking through the doorway at the top of the stairs would probably draw attention, we simply walked casually through it. Like every other bloody room in that castle, the chamber had levels. We'd come in on a long balcony that stretched the width of the room. Staircases went down to a massive central area. At the far end were two smaller raised levels on either side of the equally massive gate. The center of the room held a mechanism consisting of two concentric circles arranged to rotate independently. Each had an array of flame jets placed along one half of its circle that were burning constantly; they'd been turned so the dragon couldn't move outside of the complete circle they made without encountering flame.

"If we can move those rings, we can clear a path for the dragon," Dorian said, gesturing toward the end of the balcony closest to us where there was a ship's-wheel mechanism very like the one that opened the vault-like main door of the palace.

"Worth a try," I walked towards it casually. "Anyone notice us yet?"

"No, but you can bet they will when you start turning that thing," Bull said, "so get ready."

I turned the ship's wheel and was pleased to see the innermost ring respond; I actually got it turned so there'd be a clear path to the gate before the Qunari noticed something was amiss. "The other wheel's over on the other end of this balcony." Dorian told me hurriedly. "And they've definitely noticed us."

I discharged the Anchor and we made the most of its temporary invulnerability to make a sprint for the second wheel. We made it just over halfway before the Qunari came pounding up the stairs at us. "Keep going for the wheel!" Bull shouted, "We'll hold them off!"

I fired a quick succession of spells at the Qunari as well as an extra barrier spell on all of us, then spun around and made a run for it. One Qunari managed to break through and pursue me. I reached the wheel and put my back to it. He must have interpreted as a desperation move, because he smiled grimly as he closed the distance between us. I raised my left arm and discharged the full power of the Anchor (which had been getting perilously close to discharging itself) into his face. He howled and went down to his knees. I hit him with a freezing spell and kicked him in the face as hard as I could. I heard bones snap and he went down. I turned my attention to the wheel, wasting no time in getting it spinning. 

The larger track on the floor of the chamber began moving into place but just as a narrow passage began to open, the wheel jammed. I tried to force it, but it wouldn't budge. My actions had also caught the attention of more of the Qunari down on the floor and I swore.

"Kai!" It was Sera, just a few feet away from me. She paused to fire an arrow at an ox-man who was trying to fling a spear at Dorian. I threw a barrier spell on him and one on Sera and me. "Problem's down there!" She pointed with the arrow she was getting ready to shoot. "There's a stupid bloody great cart stuck in the track - see it?"

I nodded. "Thanks, Sera. I'm going to go down and clear the track, so if you all can cover me…"

She looked at me skeptically as she plugged an arrow into another Qunari. "It's all buggered up; how're you planning on moving it?"

I waggled my fingers at her like a bad stage magician, "Magic," and dashed away with her groan ringing in my ears. Thanks to my team (and the dragon), I met surprisingly little resistance on my run to the cart. In the glimpses I caught on the way there, I saw that Dorian and Sera had teamed up, keeping the Qunari at bay with spells and arrows, as well as the occasional well-placed bee grenade. Bull was laying about himself with his greatsword and clearly having the time of his life (which concerned me slightly, as he has been known to get carried away and rush into numbers that even he can't handle). I did feel a couple of arrows hit my coat, but they bounced off harmlessly and I made it to the cart unscathed.

Sera was right: the thing was big, unwieldy and broken. No way could I move it physically, so I had to hope I'd guessed right in my ability to do it magically. Just in case it helped, I thought very intently about smashing the thing to bits and discharged the Anchor at it. I have to admit I was a bit surprised when it shattered apart just as I'd imagined it, but there was no time to gloat. The commotion had caught the attention of not only some Qunari, but the blasted dragon. I cast a couple of big fireball spells to distract them all and made a beeline for the edge of the room, which was in a fair bit of shadow and easy to blend into. I cast a 'don't notice me' spell (not my forte, but I can do a passable one) and skulked my way back to the wheel, pausing once when I reached Dorian and Sera to discharge the Anchor and cast an extra barrier spell on them while Dorian recovered from a rather impressive series of spells that had left two Qunari blown up, one burnt to a crisp, and another that ran in a panic right into the dragon, who disposed of him with one snap of her jaws.

The wheel turned smoothly this time, and shortly I'd managed to clear the way for the dragon to reach the gate. Which was, of course, closed and _its_ controls were at the opposite end of the chamber.  Fortunately there was a brief lull in the action and we were able to regroup for a moment. Everyone was looking more than a little beat up, so I took advantage of the Anchor's super-charging my magical energy and cast a resurgence spell on all of us (that's the big, bad-ass healing spell I mentioned, if you remember). This time we needed to get all the way across the chamber, but there were markedly fewer Qunari than there had been when we arrived. As long as we avoided the dragon, we should be fine.

All things considered, it went quite smoothly. The dragon kept the remaining Qunari from being able to pile all their numbers on us, and by taking the somewhat longer route around the edge of the chamber, we managed to escape her attention.  It turned out the ships-wheel mechanisms each operated one half of the gate, which was arranged in an upper-lower configuration rather than side-by-side. At first we thought one of us on each wheel could open the gate simultaneously, but splitting up into twos and being stuck at those controls almost proved disastrous; there were still enough Qunari that one person alone couldn't hold them off long enough. First Bull took a pommel to the head that left him dazed and Dorian scrambling to get barriers up and blast the Qunari into backing off. Then another bastard got in a lucky hit on me with a heavy spear. Once again, my coat bore the brunt of it, but I got knocked on my ass and my head hit the flagstones hard enough that I saw stars. I discharged the Anchor anyway and got the satisfaction of hearing the spearman bellow in surprised pain, but it was too close for comfort. We quickly changed tactics grouping together at one wheel. While Sera spun it open, Dorian, Bull and I concentrated on further decimating the Qunari ranks, then we did the same at the other wheel.

Once the gate was open, we backed off quickly. A few Qunari pursued the fight (briefly, anyway, before we took them down), but most were backing away as well. The noise and fighting had drawn the attention of the dragon. For several long moments it seemed that she hadn't realized her path to freedom was open as she flexed her wings and roared angrily, We could see now that the open path led outside the castle, down a wide causeway to an eluvian. There were a number of Qunari on the causeway and they all turned around just as it seemed to dawn on the great beast that there was nothing blocking her way.

She ran forward, gathering speed, one of her heavy claws smashing an unlucky warrior into pulp when he didn't dive out of the way quickly enough. Another she either grabbed or he grabbed her claw in an effort not to get trampled as well. Either way, he went with her as she spread those great wings and launched herself into the air. It made a lovely picture: the massive reptile silhouetted soaring against the moon as a small, humanoid shape tumbled out of her claw and went hurtling to the ground far below. 

Now we could see to the end of the concourse. There, in front of the eluvian, were eight Qunari warriors and the Viddasala (who I take it had lingered to see if we'd actually be killed). We walked forward and the Viddasala spit a word of command; her warriors all shouted in unison and went into a defensive stance (for all I know, it was the Qunlat word for _look scary now_ ). It was all looking quite epic…

…and then the Anchor did one of its ever-more-frequent attacks, sending a screaming bolt of pain straight up my arm as it spit green fire. And of course I couldn't hold back the shout of pain as the muscles spasmed and of course the fucking Viddasala saw every bit of it.

She _had_ been about to go through the eluvian, but that made her turn back. Lucky me. She looked me up and down and said, _"Dear_ Inquisitor, you have such little time left. You must see the truth. Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen'Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world as well."

 _What the fuck did Fen'Ha-bloody-rel have to do with my fucking hand?_ "The Inquisition has nothing to do with these agents," I snapped at her.

"Come, Inquisitor, I am the eyes and ears of the Qunari people," she said loftily. "Do you think you can deceive _me_? You would have died from the mark on your hand but for the help of one of their chief agents. The same agent who helped seal the breach. Who led you to Skyhold. Who gave Corypheus the Orb, then founded the Inquisition. _Solas_. Agent of Fen'Harel."

"That's stupid!" Sera objected. "It is. Right? I mean- wait…" she frowned. "Oh, piss."

 _Why that son-of-a_ \- "He used me. All along, that bastard was manipulating us," I said out loud, even though I probably shouldn't have.

"Solas tricked us all," the Viddasala said. "He pushed a dying Qunari into the Winter Palace to lure you into opposing us. Without him we could have brought the South peace and wisdom along the Gentle Path. Now we must take the way of blades."

Not content with how bad things had quickly gotten, the Anchor attacked again, driving me down to my knees. That strange, sick feeling was back with a vengeance.

"Panahedan, Inquisitor," she said. "If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you." Knowing a good exit line when she said one, she turned and strode through the eluvian, followed by her honor guard and the biggest damn Qunari I've ever seen: Her pet Saarebas.

Right at that moment I didn't give a damn about the Viddasala's plans. I was tired, angry, scared and in pain, with anger topping the list as the other three wouldn’t help get me through this. I got to my feet and turned to the others. "Solas is the only one who can help with my mark. We find him before Viddasala does." Then I, too, strode through the mirror.


	15. Hard Decisions

Coming out the other side, I felt a wave of almost-dizziness. It came and went quickly, but I had to stand very still. I drank some water and resisted the urge to sit down as the others joined me. We were back in the perennial late afternoon I'd come to associate with eluvian-land. Once again we were in elven ruins, which I suppose shouldn't surprise me, considering it was the ancient elves who made the bloody eluvians.

Dorian put a hand on my shoulder and looked at me questioningly. I shook my head slightly and mouthed, "Later." He nodded, but looked unhappy.

"The Viddasala can't be too far ahead," Bull said.

Considering it had been mere moments between the Viddasala and us crossing through the eluvian, we should have been right on top of them, but this time that odd fluidity of time had worked in their favor rather than ours. They were far enough ahead of us that they were nowhere to be seen.

We walked through the stone archway in front of us and up a mostly overgrown path that led relentlessly uphill (I was tired enough that I was not appreciating the uphill part in the slightest). It finally levelled out, the path’s former identity as a paved walkway a bit clearer now. To our right was a high wall; on the left ancient, surprisingly intact buildings rose out of the undergrowth. Stone archways straddled the path at regular intervals. Under different circumstances it would have been a fascinating place to visit.

“There – on them!” Sera said, pointing far ahead of us. I could just see them moving forward at a quick clip. We sped up a bit, then had to slow down again. Through the next archway there was a lovely waterfall ahead to our left. At some point falling masonry had diverted the path of the stream it was falling into, and now the entire section of path before the ground rose again was covered with water. 

I’d made it about halfway across the pool – which was about knee-deep – when the Anchor made a new surprise attack. I had barely a few seconds’ warning as power surged into the blasted thing and a whole new level of pain drove through my hand and up. I went down to my knees (getting thoroughly soaked in the process just to add to the fun), just managing to shout _everyone back!_ before the thing blew. Green bolts of energy surged out of the mark like I’d cast a lightning spell. It felt like I’d been hit with the world’s biggest stun spell while being punched everywhere at the same time. Ghastly. I freely admit that one ripped an actual scream out of me.

“That can’t be healthy; perhaps Solas can help,” I heard Dorian say behind me. I know he was trying to appear calm and one of his defenses is to be flip, but right at that particular moment, I really wanted to punch him.

Sera said something like, “Bore the whole agent of Fenny business. He’d better help. We’re _owed_.” At least that’s what it sounded like. Looking at it, that first part doesn't make sense; I plead that I was a bit addled by the strength of that blast and probably didn’t hear her right. But I wholeheartedly agreed with the ‘he’d better help’ part.

I didn’t say anything; just stood up, tried to shake off the lingering feeling of shocky _wrongness_ and got out of the water and up onto the path as quickly as possible. It became a stairway leading uphill again (I added my anger about the interminable climbing to all the rest of it) and disembarked at the top of a high cliff overlooking the entire valley. 

“Over there – that’s got to be where Solas is,” Bull said, pointing across the valley to a spectacular set of ruins.

All I could see it as was that much more slogging cross-country, even with the eluvians shaving off chunks of the travel. And no doubt more bloody Qunari to fight. If it weren’t for knowing Bull, I think that entire experience may have given me a lifetime hate-on for Qunari. Down a path to our left was another eluvian. In front of the eluvian were two Qunari.

Three minutes later they were dead Qunari. I stepped through the eluvian.

This one let out at an overgrown gully. Not far in the distance was another set of ruins, a huge wolf statue of Fen’Harel, the Viddasala and a crowd of Qunari just before them. “The big mage: he’s always with their leader-woman,” Sera observed.

We heard the Viddasala shout something and naturally the Qunari attacked while she and her pet Saarebas fucked off. 

I know I’m not the greatest for battle descriptions, but please bear with me at this point. The fact is, I can’t describe shit about any of the last conflicts we were in. They’ve blurred together in my mind into a sort of endless loop of _discharge Anchor/pain/cast spells/try to keep track of what the others are doing/repeat_. The only positive of the whole bloody (heh – this time in the true sense of the word) thing was the Anchor was recharging my magic reserves so quickly that I was able to cast my really bad-ass combat and healing spells almost constantly. Too bad I was pretty much past caring about anything but staying alive long enough to get to Solas.

So we fought the Qunari. We won. I remember the area in front of the statue was swampy – more water to slog through – and on the other side of it was a path that led uphill (of course) to another eluvian. On the way I discharged the Anchor just a little too late and it knocked me on my ass. There were more Qunari left to guard the eluvian. Then there weren’t.*  


* * *

* It just occurred to me: Since the Qunari have no families, instead being raised by Qun caretakers in groups of age-mates, all Qunari commanders are automatically absolved of ever having to inform their soldiers’ families of their deaths. Must make it that much easier to think of them as utterly expendable.

* * *

We stepped through and found ourselves at one end of a long bridge. I expect you can guess what was also there to greet us. So we fought more damn Qunari. We won again. There were quite a few boxes and even a cart on the bridge, so we took the time to search through them for supplies. Instead of heading to the next eluvian after that, I wandered over to a shaded spot near the foot of the bridge and leaned heavily against the railing, The others looked at me questioningly. I gestured to Dorian and said, “Can we have a moment?”  Bull and Sera nodded understanding and walked a distance away as Dorian came to me. I sat down on a nearby crate and Dorian pulled another up to sit next to me.

“Amatus?” he said almost cautiously.

I looked at him tiredly. “I’m not doing well, love.”

He frowned. “Yes, we’ve all seen that. That’s wh-“

“No,” I cut him off. “I’m _really_ not doing well. The Anchor...it’s not just a hitchhiker. It’s a parasite. And like most parasites, it’s stupid enough that it’s killing its host.”

He winced. “Why didn’t you say something? I could have done – I don’t know – _something_.” His voice was shaky. I noticed absently that he looked like he needed a shave; wondered how long we’d actually been here in this perennial afternoon, given that he's always impeccably groomed.

“It’s been happening too fast. It caught me off guard as much as you. You’ve seen how much stronger it’s been getting, and how quickly. Well, wherever it was getting its energy from before must not be enough now, because I can feel the fucking thing eating away at me.” I chuckled humorlessly. “Feels a lot like when you’re catching a bad cold: like you’re not properly attached to your body somehow. But scarier. I just wanted to let you know, you know, in case everything really goes sideways.”

“Amatus…” he looked ready to say something uselessly encouraging. I stopped him.

“Just wait. I’m not good at saying emotional things; I have a bad habit of going all jokey.”

“I can’t imagine anyone doing that,” he interjected wryly.

I smiled in acknowledgement and looked him in the eyes. “I just wanted to say that whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything. I love you.”

 “Kai, I – _venhedis_.“ Stricken, he looked away, said huskily, “I knew you would break my heart, you bloody bastard.”

“Hey,” I put a hand on his shoulder (my right one; the left was a madly glowing mess) and waited for him to meet my eyes again. “We’ve talked a bit about this. We both know there’s nothing you or I can do about the damned Anchor aside from- well, you know. But you also know I’ve no interest in playing the martyr. I’m going to do my level best to get all of us out of here alive.” I smiled at him. “I have every intention of making you feel unspeakably guilty for haring off to Tevinter and leaving me pining for you.”

I turned away for a moment and discharged the Anchor, reining in the yelp of pain enough to turn it into a grunt. Dorian took my right hand, held it firmly, a smile playing on his lips. “Well then. I’ll have you know I’m not going to _let_ you die. I _despise_ the martyred hero ending and I refuse to be any part of one.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “In that case, you’re not allowed to die either. The _hero prevails but tragically loses his true love at the end of the battle_ is nearly as dreadful an ending. Being party to either one would be an embarrassment to both of us. They’d probably make a bloody Orlesian opera out of it.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Then we’d better find Solas quickly, don’t you think?”

“It _is_ that slim hope I mentioned. But the Viddasala and her endless parade of Qunari goons seem determined to ensure that doesn’t happen. So we need to talk about this.” I squeezed his hand for emphasis. “I _don’t_ want to die, but at the same time we’ve needed the extra firepower the Anchor’s been giving me. And you just know she’s going to sic her pet Saarebas on us. Which means we still need this cursed thing.”

“We’ve been holding our own quite well, I’d say,” he objected.

“It’s been getting harder and you know it. We’d have been out of healing potions long ago if we hadn’t kept finding the Qunari’s own stashes, and the more we use the bloody things the less effective they become. The Anchor’s cut my recovery time down to practically nothing so I can fire the big spells off like I’m shooting ice bolts. It gives us all the extra time and energy to take the bastards out.”

“So what? We just let you die?” he snapped.

“Obviously not. Didn’t we just say that would be unspeakably gauche? Just a minute.” I fired off the Anchor, heard a keening whine that took me a moment to identify as my own voice. Damn. “Sorry. Anyway, if we make it to where we don’t need the Anchor and there’s time, Bull _has_ to take my hand off; possibly the whole forearm. I’m not going to give it the satisfaction of eating me alive. And you have to be ready to cauterize it so I don’t bleed out and defeat the entire purpose.”

Dorian stared at me wide-eyed. “You want _me_ to-“

“It’s just a quick, controlled burn. You’ve got the precision.”

“ _Kaffas,_ Kai, I don’t know if I can.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to be in any shape to,” I said gruffly. “Besides, it’s just worst case scenario. I’d rather have things planned than reach that point and die because no one was ready to take that step.”

“It seems like everything’s been determined to make us reach that point lately,” he said bitterly.

“Tell me about it.” I sighed. “I need to know I can count on you to do what needs to be done.”

“Of course you can,” he said firmly, then half-smiled at me. “But you really are a bastard, making me do that.”

“Then allow me to apologize.” I pulled him to me and kissed him hard; he responded with equal ardor. Several moments later we heard Bull and Sera loudly making lewd comments and reluctantly pulled apart. I discharged the Anchor then waved them over.

Leaving out the parts about how poorly I was actually feeling, I told them my worst-case plan. Sera reacted with outraged denial: “You can’t! We’ll just have to kill them all fast and MAKE Solas fix you!” 

Bull just nodded solemnly. “Understood, Boss. If it comes down to it, I’ll make it clean and quick.”

“Thank you.” I stood up, waited a moment to assess what I felt like. My arm had been aching dully for so long I barely noticed it any more. I still felt that strange, sick floatiness like I was slightly detached from my body, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. The underlying exhaustion I felt gnawing at the edges worried me, but I pushed it aside as irrelevant, filled the spot with some of the abundant anger I was still feeling. The Anchor was crawling and biting up and down my forearm, but there was only one way to stop that (well, maybe two if I could get to Solas in time). “We should get this over with.”

“You sure you don’t want to eat something first?” Bull asked. _So that’s what he and Sera had been doing. Smart._ I thought about the travel rations we had with us and felt vaguely nauseated. “No. Just some more water is all I need. I’ll worry about food after.”

“Then let’s go kill these wankers,” Sera said coldly. “Stunner or not, I’m _sick_ of being yanked around by the viddy-bloody-whatsis.”

“Hear, hear,” Dorian said.

So we walked down the long bridge and through the eluvian.

**###**

This one let out in a short hallway leading out to a massive, overgrown courtyard. Like all of them we’d encountered, it had the requisite wolf statues and multiple levels. I was seriously beginning to hate those ancient elven architects’ infatuation with levels and staircases. Either the eluvian or all the ambient power of the elven ruins had sent the Anchor into a positive tizzy, and I barely managed to discharge it before it blew on me. Once again the damned thing knocked me on my ass; if it weren’t for my coat and the endless healing spells and potions we’d been going through, I would have been a mass of bruises by that point even if we hadn’t fought a single battle.

We descended down the first set of stairs. Across from us, the Viddasala was waiting with more troops. _They must have other eluvians we didn’t see just to keep ferrying all these bastards in_ , I thought. And as predicted, this time she sicced her pet Saarebas on us as well. (Her exact words were _Saarebas! Meravas adim kata!_ in case you were wondering…or need to sic your own Sarrebas on someone).

“Here he comes – let’s have him!” Sera shouted, and the fight was once again on. Maybe I was just too wrapped up in my own problems, but it honestly didn’t seem like the fight was too terribly difficult. The Saarebas was a pain in the ass – he spent easily half his time behind a bloody great barrier spell lobbing one thing after another at us – but he also wasn’t invulnerable. ( _An aside – I have yet to find anything that isn’t at least bothered by the bee grenades, and the Saarebas was no exception_ ). More annoying were the regular Qunari warriors that would come rushing at us sporadically, as we had to take time cutting them down before we could concentrate properly on the Saarebas. It wasn’t easy – I found myself casting resurgence spells on a fairly regular basis – but eventually we chipped away at him enough that he threw some kind of fit and popped his shackles, disappearing in a flash of blue fire. It was a nice trick, I’ll give him that.

“Well, he’s off the leash,” Bull commented as the Viddasala shouted, “Saarebas! Meravas! Meravas!” I wasn’t fool enough to think he’d just go away, perhaps open a nice little roadside inn somewhere. We’d simply pissed him off, and no doubt he’d gone off to recover a bit then _really_ kill us.

“You will not leave here, Inquisitor!” the Viddasala shouted at me. “Antaam. Ebrashok adim!”

We ran up to the balcony she’d exited from, took out the troops she’d left there to slow us down. The Anchor was getting seriously out of control now, spitting and glowing fiercely, sending tendrils like electric snakes up and down my arm and across my coat any time I waited just a fraction too long to discharge it. I could feel the vile thing eating away at me, but also couldn’t put my plan to excise it into motion as long as the Viddasala and Saarebas kept luring us further in. I just had to hope things would wind up quickly.

The balcony led to yet another bridge (not as long this time) to another set of ruins. There were more Qunari on the bridge so we disposed of them, looted their supplies and coin and continued on. We emerged in another many-leveled courtyard, the Viddasala and her cast of thousands arrayed in front of another eluvian at the far end. “Haven’t we done this before? Why do we have to keep doing this?” I groaned to no one in particular.

“Whatever do you mean? This is completely different from the last,” Dorian said airily. “The last one had a reclining wolf statue on the left. The statue to our left now is clearly a howling wolf.”

“Ah. I stand corrected,” I replied and discharged the Anchor at the latest group of Qunari to come running at us.

We ran that gauntlet and crossed through the eluvian. Wonder of wonders, it disembarked in front of a flat expanse with no stairs or levels whatsoever to negotiate to reach its eluvian at the far end. Just one set of stairs up to the mirror -- probably put there for dramatic effect -- with the Viddasala waiting for us.

“All right! Meravas katara!” Bull enthused.

“You are dead, Inquisitor! Your soul is dust!” the Viddasala informed me, then – like every other time – wheeled around and fucked off through the eluvian. Her pet Saarebas appeared in front of us in another magical flash. I was too fed up with everything to appreciate it one bit this time.

It would delight the bards no end if I gave some rousing battle cry to rally my friends at this point, but what I really said was, “Let’s get this shite over with.”

So once again we fought the Saarebas (apparently his name was Saarath; I really couldn’t give a damn). Dorian and I cast spells and our last bee grenades. I used the Anchor to cast big spells and give us an edge with its temporary invulnerability effect. Sera fired arrows and bee grenades. Bull and his greatsword got up close and personal with the bastard and also used his last remaining grenades. The Saarebas cast devastating spells back at us. Eventually we again managed to chip away at him enough that I fired the Anchor right into his big, ugly face and he finally went down. You’ll pardon me if I don’t mourn his passing.

As we caught our breaths after the battle, an unnatural stillness fell over the courtyard. “Now what?” I muttered, but no one answered. In fact, no one was moving. All three of my companions had stopped dead in mid-motion. Even the air was still, the breeze that had been blowing the entire time since our arrival gone. _Time magic?_ If so, it had left me unaffected, though it seemed to have slowed the Anchor down to a crawl.

If this was Solas’ doing, he had abilities far beyond anything he’d ever shown us, the bastard. It looked like any answers I might get were going to be found through the eluvian; I had to go there anyway to finish the Viddasala. So hoping the others would be alright, I stepped through the eluvian alone.


	16. Wolf

I stepped out into a battlefield, but not one that was any cause for concern. Every single warrior on it was made of stone. I suspected their construction was of very recent vintage and done wholesale by magic rather than by a skilled artisan who really loved carving lifelike Qunari. They lined the path I saw nearby, which led to more stairs (argh) and another eluvian.

I followed it, and soon heard the unmistakeable tones of the Viddasala: “Ebasit kata. Itwa-ost. Maraas kata!”

The voice that replied I hadn’t heard in over two years; I sped up to a jog and soon saw them.

“Your forces have failed. Leave now, and tell the Qunari to trouble me no further.” He turned from her and began to walk away.

I watched her lift her spear, coiling powerfully to heave it into his slim back. He stopped, not deigning to turn, and in the next moment she was nothing but another stone statue to decorate that place of ruin.

He continued his slow walk towards the eluvian. I didn’t call out; simply said his name: “Solas.”

He turned, and as he did, the Anchor bit hard, spitting and hissing and driving me down into a crouch as I cried out in pain. So much for dignified reunions.

He looked down at me, and I thought I caught a flash of his eyes glowing, but I can’t be sure. What I do know is a moment later the Anchor stopped its attack and for the first time since we’d entered the Crossroads, stopped glowing. I stood slowly.

“That should give us more time,” he said. “I suspect you have questions.”

 _Damn right I do._ I was sore, dead tired and furious, but I’d also just seen him turn someone to stone with a thought, then shut the Anchor down with another. I also wanted him to do the latter permanently, so I figured I’d better stay civil and remind myself I’d rather liked him when he was with the Inquisition.

“The Qunari were trying to kill you,” I told him. “I wanted to get here first.”

“I know,” he said calmly. “They sought an agent of Fen’Harel. I am no one’s agent but my own. I fear that the truth is much simpler, and much worse than the Qunari believe.”

“You’re Fen’Harel,” I said flatly. 

“I was Solas first. Fen’Harel came later. An insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies. Not unlike Inquisitor, I suppose. You also know the burden of a title that all but replaces your name.”

For that comment alone I was willing to cut him some slack. “Are you a fragment of what Fen’Harel once was, like Mythal?” I asked.

“No. This is all I have ever been.”

“And the legends?” I prompted.

“I swore to set my people free from slavery to would-be gods. I broke the chains of all who wished to join me.” He strolled over to the stone wall near the edge of the cliff we were on. It overlooked a valley and the grand ruins of an elven castle. From this distance the place looked intact. “The false gods called me Fen’Harel, and when they finally went too far, I formed the Veil and banished them forever. Thus I freed the elven people and in so doing…destroyed their world.”

Even though I had a pretty good idea how, I asked him, “How did creating the veil destroy the world?”

“You saw the remains of the Vir Dirthara. The library was intrinsically tied to the Fade, and the Veil destroyed it. There were countless other marvels, all dependent of the presence of the Fade, all destroyed. The elven legends of immortality? All true. It was not the arrival of humans that caused them to begin aging; it was me.” 

_Nice to have that verified_ I thought but didn’t say. 

“The Veil took everything from the elves. Even themselves,” he finished sadly.

“You banished the false gods -- you didn’t kill them?”

“You met Mythal, did you not,” he replied. “The first of my people do not die so easily. The Evanuris are banished forever, paying the ultimate price for their misdeeds.” 

“You said the elven gods went too far,” I reiterated. “What did they do that made you move against them?”

“They killed Mythal.” He chuckled. “A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment.”

“I thought Mythal was one of the Evanuris.”

“She was the best of them. She cared for her people. She protected them. She was a voice of reason.” He shook his head, “And in their lust for power, they killed her.”

“The Evanuris were elven mages – how did they come to be remembered as gods?” I was afraid the answer to this one would fuel every mage-hating reactionary out there if they found out, but I wanted to know.

“Slowly,” he said. “It started with a war. War breeds fear. Fear breeds a desire for simplicity: good and evil, right and wrong, chains of command. After the war ended, generals became respected elders, then kings, and finally gods: The Evanuris.”

Okay, that made perfect sense. Apparently being immortal wasn't proof against the same sorts of idiocy the mere mortals of today fall into. But there was something else that didn't make nearly as much sense to me: “You love the Fade – why would you create the Veil to hide it all away?” Maker knows he’d gone on about it incessantly when he was with us; it had been difficult to get him to talk about anything else.

“Because every alternative was worse,” he said grimly.

“Meaning?”

“Had I not created the Veil, the Evanuris would have destroyed the entire world.”

 _Lovely._ While the history lesson was fascinating, I did have a few more pressing concerns. “That’s in the past. What about the future?”

“I lay in a dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages passed,” he said.

 _He’s waxing poetic. Things are never good when someone waxes poetic._ I wished Dorian were with me just so I could mutter that to him; he’d absolutely agree.

“I woke still weak a year before I joined you. My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down, but still some hope remains for restoration. I will save the elven people, even if it means _this_ world must die.”

And there it was. Couched in the most benign terms, but it was all the same damn thing. Crazy ancient entity wants to destroy the world in order to accomplish his or her selfish goal. He could pretty it up all he wanted, make it all about saving “his people” (keeping in mind he’d told me many times in the past that modern elves were _not_ his people), but it didn’t change the true reason. It all boiled down to _he fucked up and now he wanted a do-over, and it didn’t matter who he had to destroy to make himself feel better._ If I didn’t know he could kill me with a look, I might’ve tried to throttle him then and there.

Even though I knew now that I was talking to another damn fanatic, I tried. “Why does this world have to die for the elves to return?”

“A good question,” he said. “But not one I will answer.” He had turned away from me completely now; I was talking to his back. He continued, “You have always shown a thoughtfulness I respected; it would be too easy to tell you too much. I am not Corypheus. I take no joy in this-.”

_Well it makes me feel so much better to know you may suffer a pang of remorse._

“- but the return of my people means the end of yours. It is my fight.” Now he turned back to me. “ _You_ should be more concerned about the Inquisition. _Your_ Inquisition. In stopping the Dragon’s Breath you have prevented an invasion by Qunari forces. With luck, they will return their focus to Tevinter. That should give you a few years of relative peace.”

I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing, and that he could say that with a straight face. _You’re planning on destroying the world but I should worry about the fucking Inquisition?_ My goal now was twofold: keep him talking as long as he was willing in hopes he _would_ let more slip than he intended, and get him to _fix my fucking hand_. Surely if he could create the bloody Veil, he could do that.

I said, "The Qunari said the Inquisition was unknowingly working for agents of Fen'Harel."

"I gave no orders," he replied. 

"You led us to Skyhold."

"Corypheus should have died unlocking my Orb. When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos. When _you_ survived, I saw the Inquisition as the best hope this world had for stopping him, and you needed a home. Hence: Skyhold."

 _Fair enough._ "You gave your orb to Corypheus?" I let a hint of incredulity show.

"Not directly. My agents allowed the Venatori to locate it. The Orb had built up magical energy while I lay unconscious for millennia. I was not powerful enough to open it. The plan was for Corypheus to unlock it, and for the resulting explosion to kill him. Then I would claim the Orb." He at least looked… I don't know if embarrassed is the right word. Perhaps nonplussed that things hadn't gone according to his plan. 

He continued, "I did not foresee a Tevinter Magister having learned the secret of effective immortality."

"So what would have happened if Corypheus had died and you had recovered the orb?" I asked.

"I would have ended the Fade using the Mark you now bear. Then I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time. The world of the elves."

 _Oh, you arrogant wanker…obviously you believe 'you can't go home again' doesn't apply to you._ Now I rather wished Sera were here too as I could almost hear what she'd have to say about his plan. And I was suddenly a lot more pleased that I'd inadvertently fucked _his_ plan up as well as Corypheus'.

"If you destroyed the Veil, wouldn't the false gods be freed?" 

"I had plans," he said confidently. 

"So at least some of the stories about the Dread Wolf are true." I did not mean that in a nice way.

"I did not lead a rebellion against immortal mage-kings without getting my hands bloody," he said crossly, then unbelievably: "You must understand. I awoke in a land where the Veil had blocked most people's conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil."

I understood, all right. "We aren't even people to you."

"Not at first," he admitted. " _You_ showed me that I was wrong. Again. That does not make what must come next any easier."

Was he honestly expecting me to sympathize? I shrugged. "For whatever it's worth, thanks for the castle."

"For whatever it's worth, you used it well," he replied. I wasn't sure if he was just matching me tone for tone or truly had no idea what he sounded like and what I was thinking.

I went back to his original point, wondering even more what would possess him to tell me it was somehow important for me to worry about the Inquisition. "Then what's wrong with the Inquisition?"

"You created a powerful organization, and now it suffers the inevitable fate of such -- betrayal and corruption."

"It's not that simple," I said, more to keep him talking than because I necessarily disagreed with him.

"Do you know how I discovered the Qunari plot? The plot I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep? The _Qunari_ spies in the Inquisition tripped over _my_ spies in the Inquisition. The elven guard who led you to the Qunari body, who intercepted the servant with the gaatlok barrel? Mine."

For a brief - _very_ brief - moment, I had to clamp down firmly on the urge to burst out laughing. If I wanted another reason to disband the Inquisition, I needed to look no further. But I had to wonder, "Why bother disrupting the Qunari plot if you're going to destroy the world regardless?"

"You have shown me that there is value in this world, Inquisitor. I take no joy in what I must do. Until that day comes, I would see those recovering from the breach free of the Qun."

 _Well aren't you just the soul of altruism…_   "Why?" I asked him, simultaneously fascinated and appalled by his personal logic.

"Because _I_ am not a monster. If they must die, I would rather they die in comfort. In any event, it is done."

 _Andraste's furry ass, what you are is one of the most self-absorbed motherfuckers I've ever met…_ That flash of hilarity was utterly gone, replaced again by anger. I let just a touch of it show as I said, "So you let us do your dirty work."

"The mistake was _yours_ to fix, Inquisitor," he said testily.

 _Excuse me?_ Oh. Right. With the Inquisition. I really no longer cared about that, so I changed the subject. "You control the eluvians now?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "You remember Briala from Halamshiral? For a time she controlled part of the labyrinth. One of my agents was supposed to take it from her, but he did not succeed. I had to override the magic personally. The Qunari stumbled on this section independently. With them gone, the eluvians are now mine."

Lovely. And now - finally - the only question I _did_ really care about: "There's still the matter of the Anchor. It's getting worse."

He looked away from me, eyes straying down to the left. "Yes. I'm sorry. And we are almost out of time."

And just like that, it all came back. The pain was immediate, and it was _huge_ , a vicious, biting animal exuding acid in its wake. Back down to my knees I went, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I could barely concentrate enough to register what he was saying as he calmly bent forward, resting his hands on his thighs as he talked to me.

"The mark will eventually kill you," he crouched down so he was at eye level to me. "Drawing you here gave me a chance to save you. At least for now."

I concentrated very hard on keeping my voice as even as his, and knowing he could easily walk away without doing a damn thing, still said, "If I live, I'm coming to stop you."

He stood slowly. "I know." And knowing I meant it, still said, "Take my hand."

I did as he said. To tell you the truth, I did trust him. We'd never been close, certainly never would be now, but we'd gotten along, and if I was to believe him, he'd even developed something of a grudging respect for me. He could have killed me outright many times over by now, so I hoped this was a sort of good-bye gesture on his part. I'm quite sure he doesn't believe he has anything to fear from me.

He took my hand - which was glowing brightly enough to make my eyes water and spitting green electric fire - and said, "I'm sorry" again. With his free hand, he made a sharp cutting gesture over my arm that was accompanied by a small bluish flash of light. He said, "Live well… while time remains," and walked away, disappearing towards the eluvian we'd left a short distance back.

I was still on my knees, didn't think I could get up if I tried. When he'd made the cutting gesture, several things started happening. Most visible was the glow, which strengthened as it began to change from green to white and enveloped my entire forearm. That was the least of it. First off, the pain stopped with a suddenness that was nearly as shocking as when it had all come rushing back moments before. Then the oddest set of sensations I think I've ever felt. Every bit of it was highly magical in nature. It felt -- this is appallingly difficult to describe -- as though someone were sliding a tight, smooth glove over my hand then up my arm, a glove that was either so cold it burned or so hot it froze, if that makes any sense. The 'glove' slid up my arm and stopped a bit below the elbow. There was a sense of furious movement, though I was unable to move my arm, an odd, electric tingling, then a feeling of _dislocation_ as the glove and everything else…went away.

The left gauntlet I'd been wearing dropped to the flagstones with a soft 'clink'.

I lifted my left arm and cautiously looked down at it. From just below the elbow, the arm of my coat now drooped sadly. Solas had done painlessly what I'd been prepared to do in a messy, non-magical way. _I suppose I should be grateful,_ I thought emotionlessly. I felt at a remove from the entire situation, as though the part of me that felt things had decided to take a short holiday before catching up with its new reality.

 _I should stand up._ I examined this new thought, realized my legs were sore. In fact, with the pain from the Anchor gone, there were all sorts of things that were sore that it had been overshadowing. _Damn._ I stood up slowly and surprised myself by yawning. _I am… really fucked up. I think._ Without the distraction of the Anchor, I still felt like I'd been punched. Everywhere. For at least several days in a row. And like I was so exhausted I couldn't possibly sleep. I felt like I'd been hollowed out from the inside. _Of course you do; the Anchor was eating you to feed itself._ Along with that thought came a hard, brittle anger. If Solas was so bloody sorry, why did he leave that cursed thing embedded in my hand for two extra years? Not to mention his plans to destroy the world, of course. A sensation of light-headedness washed over me and I took a deep breath as I steadied myself. 

_I should sit down._ I could do that. I saw a place that looked marginally more comfortable than the ground and made my way there, moving at a quarter of my normal pace as I kept getting the sensation I was about to lose my balance. I sat down just as cautiously, and waited. If you'd asked me at that moment, I wouldn't have been able to tell you what I was waiting for; I was simply content to wait.

I waited.


	17. Danach - Day 3 and 4

If this were a tale crafted by bards or storytellers, I would now skip forward to the point in time where I rejoined the Exalted Council. I would do my best to give you the impression that perhaps thirty minutes had passed in which I (already miraculously cleaned up, of course) changed back into my formalwear and found a competent tailor to pin up the now-inconveniently-empty part of my left sleeve. I would be confident, dynamic and thoroughly adjusted to my new situation. After putting the Council in its place with an eloquent speech, perhaps I would share a chuckle with my friends and colleagues as we looked out over the horizon together, heroically lit by a gorgeous sunset. 

Unfortunately, the truth is, as usual, quite a bit messier.

Whatever Solas had done to stop the world while we had our little talk ended when he left. It wasn't long before my friends found me; not that I'd gone far. I'd simply walked over to where the masonry was still intact enough to form a flat surface with a wall to lean back against and sat. Waiting. I still felt angry but oddly disconnected from everything, as though it were happening to someone else while I watched at a slight remove. 

They found the left gauntlet to my armor first; I'd seen no reason to hang onto it. That alarmed them and they started calling for me. It actually took me a moment to realize I should answer them. "Over here," I said absently. Didn't get up because I didn't feel like it.

"You okay, Boss?" Bull asked as they approached me.

I thought about it. "No. Not really."

"You lost your glove." Sera held the gauntlet up as evidence.

Understand - I was still wearing my heavy black leather coat, sitting in the shade against a gray stone wall. It wasn't immediately obvious that my loss extended a bit beyond one "glove".

"What happened, amatus?" Dorian looked around suspiciously.

"Solas." That didn't seem like enough. "Fucking arrogant ancient-elf bastard." Better.

" _He's_ the one who made all the Qunari statues?" Sera said, sounding somewhere between disbelieving and outraged.

"Mm. Just looked at 'em. Eyes glowed. More Qunari garden ornaments. Quite the trick," I confirmed. I seemed to have lost the ability to make sentences of more than five words. At the moment, I didn't care.

"If he could do that the whole time, why didn't he when we were - I dunno - getting attacked by _hordes of demons_?" Sera demanded. "Arrgh! Wanker!"

"Kai," Dorian approached, looking at me closely. "Even for you, you're awfully pale. What did he do to you?"

I raised what was left of my left arm, used my right hand to flap the sleeve at him in a parody of a wave. "He said sorry."

Three people swore in three different languages. Dorian sat down next to me as Bull growled, "Where is he?"

I shrugged. "Fucked off. Lots to do. World to destroy. He said sorry about that too, so that makes it okay."

The part of me that was floating slightly above it all observing everything saw all of them catch what I said and clearly decide to put it aside until I was more coherent. Sera asked, “Does it hurt?”

I moved my arm experimentally. “No. It just feels all…wrong. Wronger than it did before. When the Anchor was eating it.”

“Sooo…he really did want to save you?” Dorian said skeptically.

I snorted. “Yeah. Not enough to do it years ago, but better late than never, right? Soul of altruism, he is.”

“Uh, guys,” Bull said cautiously, “I think we should get the boss home.”

Dorian nodded agreement and said to me, “Kai? Do you think you can stand up?’

It was an interesting idea. My body felt heavy, like it would like to become one with the stonework I was sitting on. “Sure,” I said, though I wasn’t. He got me to sling my arm across his shoulders so he could help and I made it upright. I felt faintly dizzy for a moment, but otherwise okay. But I was still so tired. Exhausted, really.

I’m afraid I don’t remember much of what was said as we went back through the eluvians. I was increasingly having to concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other. Dorian kept his arm firmly around my waist, thankfully, as my balance felt off. At one point Bull was saying something quietly to Dorian about having “seen this before in Seheron”; pretty sure he was talking about me. And Sera was talking with savage glee about how she intended to put an arrow through each of Solas’ eyes and “one through the dangle-bag if he’s even got any”. I considered pointing out it would be more effective if she reversed the order, but just didn’t have the energy.

I do remember at one point I was trying to explain to Dorian that I felt _thin_  and _stretched_. What I meant was I felt my very essence was diminished, like the damned Anchor had started eating my soul at the end and it hadn’t had time to grow back yet. For all I know, that’s exactly what happened. But I couldn’t think how to say it, so he didn’t understand, telling me very kindly and patiently that they’d get me something to eat when we got back. I gave up and went back to concentrating on walking and keeping my eyes open at the same time.*  


* * *

* I never did say anything about it again to Dorian or anyone else. When I'd recovered, I thought it sounded too… dramatic for anyone to believe. Or they'd believe me but put it down to the trauma I'd suffered. But it was a very real feeling, and the more I've examined it, the more I believe that was precisely what happened.

* * *

And then we were somehow back at the Winter Palace. It was dark out, which was good. The less people we encountered the better. I have a vague flash or two of going indoors, and Dorian helping me undress and then… nothing.

I've mentioned that fighting takes a lot out of you, and the entire day (if it was a day; that whole odd fluidity of time when you're crossing in and out of eluvians gets rather confounding. For all I know, it was the equivalent of two or three days; everywhere we went after that Qunari palace it seemed to always be late afternoon.) leading up to my lovely conversation with Solas was one long, bloody slog of pitched battles interspersed with the Anchor trying to eat my arm from the inside out. Well. It turns out that amputation - even a painless, magical one - takes a lot out of you too. All of which is my roundabout way of saying that I spent the majority of the next day asleep.

I woke up once in a while, mainly to either drink water or relieve myself (talk about a vicious circle), but I don't think I ever fully emerged from the fog of exhaustion I was in. I know I kept trying to use my left hand for things and it kept not working. And there were people in the room sometimes, but I barely registered any of it before dropping back into sleep. I don't even recall dreaming.

The next day I awakened full of energy and resolve, ready to take on the world and- You don't really believe that bollocks, do you? 

I did finally wake up properly a full day and a half after we got back from eluvian-land, but I did not feel like taking on the world. Rather, I felt grubby and hungry and thoroughly out of sorts. Like I had a thousand times before, I dug my arms into the mattress to push myself into more of a sitting position, but this time only the right one shoved while the left one slipped awkwardly, so instead of sitting up I managed to push myself onto my left side. I realized what had happened right away and got myself up, but I have to admit my first heroic words upon my return to the Winter Palace were, "Fuck this shit."

I heard a noise at my words. I looked for the source and saw Cassandra, of all people, slouched in a chair next to the bed. It looked like I may have woken her up.

"Oh, you're awake." She sat up straighter. "How are you feeling?"

I said the first thing that came to mind. "Grubby and cross. How long have you been sitting there?"

"Not that long. We've been taking turns since you got back. It was the only way to convince him to get some rest," she indicated a direction with her chin. I followed its trajectory and saw Dorian fast asleep on a nearby couch. It took me that long to realize we were in his quarters.

"This has got to be the most clichéd question ever, but how long was I out?"

She told me and asked if there was anything she could get me. A burning desire to get cleaned up warred briefly with an equally burning desire for coffee. Coffee won. 

Cassandra nodded and stood up. "I'll tell the servants to bring some to you. Will you be all right if I go? I must return to my duties soon." She didn't look thrilled at the prospect.

I assured her I'd be quite all right on my own, though I really wanted to scrape the accumulated filth off myself. To my surprise, she told me that I was to be allowed use of the royal family's private facilities. Servants would prepare them and let me know when they were ready for use. She made a few more concerned noises at me then took her leave.

I got out of bed and just stood there for a moment. I felt a little wobbly, but nothing untoward. Someone had considerately thrown an oversized nightshirt on me, which was more than sufficient garb for my brief trek into the sitting area. I sat heavily in an overstuffed armchair and listened to Dorian snoring softly in the other room as I waited for my coffee. Hopefully that would snap me out of the foul mood I was in.

Once the coffee came (enough for several cups, delivered by a human servant for once), I tried to just not think. It didn't work. I never pick up cups with my right hand, but I had no choice. And the whole time my mind was trying to insist the left hand was _there_ , damn it. And I felt positively slimy. And fucking Solas and his whole fucking self-centered agenda. And I was hungry, but the whole idea of eating sounded like a chore. _And you just watch - regardless of what happened, those Ferelden and Orlesian bell-ends are still going to expect you to attend their precious exalted council._ And my left hand was reporting that it hurt when it had no business doing any such thing seeing as it _wasn't_ _there_ …

By the time I heard Dorian stirring, I had finished the entire container of coffee. I was brittlely awake, and if anything my mood was even more foul. I also needed to piss, but getting up to do it seemed like far too much effort. When Dorian walked into the room I was glaring at the empty coffee cup on the low table in front of me, trying to convince myself to stand up.

"Kai," he said softly, sounding genuinely pleased, "you're up. Sorry I fell asleep."

He looked as rumpled as I felt. With a truly heroic effort, I managed to speak without snapping at him. "It's all right. Probably better you weren't up."

"How are you feeling"? _Maker, I was probably going to be hearing that question all bloody day…_

"I have had four cups of wonderfully strong Antivan coffee. They are now clamoring for release; a fact I deeply resent because I do not feel like indulging biological demands. I also feel absolutely filthy. Oh - and I seem to have misplaced my left arm. Other than that, things are just peachy."

"Well, as long as there's nothing serious. We can- yes?" Dorian interrupted himself at the knock on the door. A servant entered to let us know the bathing facilities were ready for use, and would we require attendants?

We declined the offer and sent her on her way.

"There you go," Dorian said cheerfully. "One of your problems solved at least."

"Hah. I can't go into the palace looking like this," I objected.

"Like what?"

"I'm wearing a nightshirt." I grabbed a handful of the garment to demonstrate and really looked at it for the first time. "Dorian. I am wearing a nightshirt with little embroidered nugs all over it. Andraste's tits, where did this even come from?"

"Leliana said it was all she could find," he blinked at me innocently.

I took a deep breath. "I am having. A very. Shitty. Day. Would you _please_ find me something to put on so I can leave this suite once I have disposed of the coffee I drank. I shall return momentarily." I walked away with as much dignity as someone wearing embroidered nugs can muster.

The royal family's private baths were every bit as luxurious as you'd expect. Rather like the palace's public ones, but a smaller, nicer version. There'd been no question that Dorian would accompany me; chances were far too great that I'd need the help (and to be honest, he looked rather like an unmade bed himself after sleeping on a couch half the night).

Bathing was… an experience. There were bits that were suddenly more complicated to reach, and times when I got frustrated just because my right hand is decidedly more clumsy than the left had been, and most disconcerting was that feeling that I was off-balance. Though, as Dorian pointed out, I also hadn't eaten for a good two days, which could be contributing to my general discomfort. I did end up needing some help, but it wasn't as bad as I'd feared.*  


* * *

* For the prurient among you, no, we didn't have sex. I went into the baths feeling grubby, angry, and depressed. I came out feeling clean, angry, and depressed. And Dorian was mostly concerned with ensuring I didn't lose my balance and crack my skull open on the tiles.

* * *

They also had large, high-quality mirrors, so I got my first good look at Solas' handiwork _(oops - more hand puns. Didn't intend that one.)._ There were no scars. My left arm now simply _ended_ a bit below the elbow. It looked so flawless you'd think I'd been born that way, especially contrasted against the set of scars the fade demon had left me with a few years before. I stared at it for what felt like a very long time, until I started to freak myself out. 

"You going to stand there until you air dry?" Dorian said from behind me. "Your clothes are here. I wasn't sure what you'd be able to put on easily, so they brought lots."

I met his eyes in the mirror. "How could he have just left that thing in my hand knowing what it was going to do? Especially knowing I’m left-handed?"

"Terribly unsporting of him," Dorian agreed easily. "Coming?" He pulled me away from the mirror.

If bathing was a bit of a challenge, getting dressed for the first time was an athletic workout, though I suspect it would have been easier if I hadn't lost my dominant hand. The smallclothes were fiddly but tolerable and I found a shirt that pulled on rather than having to mess with buttons or laces. The trousers were trickier. For one thing, I had no choice but to contend with either buttons or laces. Obviously I went with buttons, one-handed knot tying being far beyond my abilities. Dorian offered to help, but I was going to have to learn how to do it, so he simply looked on with a bemused expression as I twisted about, yanking them into place. It was the buttoning that damn near conquered me, because I just couldn't get my right hand to cooperate. As I've said before, it's not one for precision. I finally managed it, but my wrist and forearm were aching by the end. My favourite lace-up boots were out of the question after all that, but it turned out I could handle the ones with buckles all up the sides. I did let Dorian help with that because my arm was still sore. The whole exercise left me feeling just as cross as I’d been earlier, if considerably cleaner.

We returned to Dorian's quarters, where there was already food waiting for us. Once we'd finished eating (which took me some time; I was famished, and ate easily twice the amount of food I normally would), Dorian asked, "So do you feel up to talking to anyone yet? All any of us really know about what happened is Solas took your arm."

"No," I snapped, and saw his eyes widen a bit. I tried to tone the rest of my answer down. "Sorry. I just can't. Not yet. At the moment I can't bear the thought of talking to _anyone_. Well, aside from you."

"That's fine, it can wait a little longer. I'll let them know." I could _hear_ him sounding Calm, and it was irritating me even though I knew that was unreasonable. "Amatus, would you be all right if I left for a bit? I have to do a few things and-"

"I'll be fine," I cut him off. "Truth? I'd rather be alone right now. I'm trying not to sound like a complete asshole to you and even that's getting exhausting." I tried a conciliatory smile and he seemed to relax some. "I might even sleep a bit more."

"Are you sure? I could get someone to look in on you."

"Go." I made shooing motions at him. "I'm going to be horrible company anyway. If I need anything I'll ask one of the servants."

He looked like he wasn't entirely convinced, but he nodded. "Just remember - people are here if you need them. I'll try not to be too long."

"Dorian." I took his hand and pulled him into a quick kiss. "Would you please go? You obviously have things to do and I'm feeling very antisocial."

"Well, when you put it that way," he gave me a crooked grin and stood up. "I shall see you anon."

I raised an eyebrow at him. " 'Anon' ?"

"It seemed appropriate. Do try not to terrify the servants." He pulled on a jacket and left with a parting wink.

I was finally alone.


	18. The Downward Spiral

* * *

_I would prefer to omit this next section entirely, but if I were to do that I feel like I’d be falling into the Infallible Hero trap. Ever since I walked out of the Fade that first time after Justinia’s Conclave, I’ve been resisting it. I flat-out refused to say I was in any manner “chosen” by Andraste when they started calling me the Herald of Andraste. I’ve tried not to let all the bowing and scraping and “Your Worship”-ing I’ve gotten as Inquisitor go to my head, and purposefully kept people around who would gladly take me down a notch if I started taking it all too seriously._

 _My point is, if I don’t tell the parts of the story where I’m not perfect, then I’m just selling a lie every bit as much as the ones who were promoting me as Andraste’s Chosen when they knew damn well I wasn’t._  


* * *

I did sleep for perhaps another hour and woke up still feeling…out of sorts doesn’t really do it justice. I was angry and morose and felt like every effort I had made and could conceivably make would turn out to be utterly futile. I knew what I was expected to do – briefing everyone on what that lunatic Solas had planned and _of course_ the Exalted-fucking-Council – but I couldn’t bear the thought of talking to anyone. Therefore I proceeded to make one of the stupider decisions I’ve ever made: I skulked out of Dorian’s quarters just long enough to flag down a servant and instruct him to bring me enough alcohol for a party of three to have a lengthy afternoon of Wicked Grace (not due to any particular embarrassment about drinking alone; it just seemed the most expedient way to describe the quantities I desired). Once it had been delivered, I gave clear instructions that I was not to be disturbed and settled in to see just how long it would take to either get blind drunk or give myself alcohol poisoning; I really didn’t much care which.

Some hours later I was well on my way to accomplishing my goal. I still felt dreadful, but the alcohol was doing an admirable job of distracting me. My one miscalculation was not taking into account that I was in Dorian’s suite, therefore my Do Not Disturb edict didn’t extend to him in the servants’ eyes. I was sitting (slouching, really) on the divan, drinking some sort of very expensive Antivan brandy with a beer chaser and idly firing little lightning bolts at the stone outer wall of the room (I considered this highly responsible of me, since fire would scorch and ice would make a mess) when he walked in.

He looked at me, looked around the room at the evidence of my new hobby, and muttered, “ _Kaffas_.”

I fired another lightning bolt at the wall. I guess I was scorching it a little, but not much.

“Kai.” He strode across the room and stood in front of me. “What in the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

I deliberately downed another shot of brandy and a somewhat larger shot of beer before answering. “What’s it look like? I’m drinking. And you’re in my way.”

“Oh for-“ He stopped himself and instead said, “How long have you been at this?”

I shrugged. “Not long enough. You still make sense.” Since he was standing in the way of the wall, I shot a little bolt at the ceiling.

“Stop that.” He sounded annoyed. “People told me they saw sparks in the window. They were worried something might have happened.”

“Well nothing did. It’s not hurting anything, so you can leave now.” I emptied both brandy glass and beer bottle and sat up enough to get a refill.

“I think not,” Dorian countered. “Amatus, you’ve had enough.”

“Yes I have,” I snapped. “Which is why I need another drink.” I reached for the closest bottle. He put his hand firmly over my wrist.

“You know, I deeply resent you forcing me to be the responsible one here,” he said.

I glared at him. “Well it’s about time _someone_ else has to be, because I’m fucking sick of it.” 

“I did warn you no one would appreciate your efforts,” he reminded me. Still trying to treat me like I was being reasonable, bless him.

“Well, Maker knows you got that one dead to rights.” I slouched back into the couch until he relaxed his grip then made another lunge for the bottle. He stopped me easily.

“I’ve tried that trick before myself, you know.”

I made a rude noise but subsided for the moment. “Why don’t you just leave.”

He looked at me with feigned surprise. “It’s _my_ suite.”

“Then I’ll leave,” I sulked while making no move to do so.

“You’re in no condition to. Fasta vass, how much did you _drink_?”

“A lot less than I was planning to. Whadda _you_ care?”

He frowned. “Kai, stop sulking. It’s very unbecoming. Why don’t we get you some coffee and-“

“Why don’t you just _fuck off_!” I barked at him. “You’re going to anyway.”

“Excuse me? I’m not-“ he began, clearly a little behind on my shift in topics.

“You are. Off to Tevinter the moment the Exalted Council ends, remember?”

He flinched. “You know I don’t have a choice.”

I jumped off the couch and pushed past him, grabbing the bottle as I did and taking a good gulp of whatever-was-in-it. “Of _course_ you don’t. You've got to go save your _precious_ Tevinter single-handedly – ha-ha,” I sneered as I saluted him with my left arm, “And ‘The Inquisitor’ isn’t invited because I’m _not_ Tevinter and I might rain on your parade!”

Now he was starting to look angry. “That is _not_ why and you know it.”

“Do tell. You don’t remember? When I offered to come to Tevinter with you over two _years_ ago?” I mimicked him as I said, “ ‘We both know you’d end up doing it all yourself. You make decisions affecting the entire world – how can I not consider some of my own. This is something _I_ need to do.’ Oh, and then you blamed my being too damned effective for making you think of it. Need I go on? Believe me, Dorian, I remember every _bit_ of that conversation.”

“Which, as you say, was over two years ago,” he shot back. “I _did_ stay with you and I _want_ to stay with you but I _can’t_. Now right now.”

“And what would possess you to think I’d still ‘do it all myself’? I’m sick to fucking death of that. I’d be perfectly happy just helping _you_ to do it all.”

“Venhedis, Kai, you’d be _miserable_ there.”

I snorted. “Balls. I’d complicate things for you. Your people would never accept a southerner. And you told me yourself that they consider any relationship between two men to be for sport only, so I’d be _difficult_ to explain.”

“I- That’s unfair,” he protested.

“But true.” I took a celebratory drink. “So just fuck off and save Tevinter why don’t you. ‘S all gonna go tits up in a few years anyway.”

“Now what are you on about?” He sounded exasperated.

“Oh yeah, you dunno yet.” I fired another little lightning bolt at the wall just because I could. “Our _dear_ pointy-eared friend Solas – also known as Fen’Harel the Dread fucking Wolf - is the one who actually pushed his people into mortality eons ago. Then he went to sleep for forever and lucky us – now he’s awake and he’s decided he wants a do-over ‘cause he doesn’t like how it all turned out. So he’s gonna destroy our world so he can bring the world that _he_ remembers back. But he’s kind of sorry about it — said his time with us _almost_ makes him think we’re people.”

I finished off the bottle and threw it into the unlit fireplace where it shattered with a satisfying crash. “So go ahead and fuck off to Tevinter. None of it matters anyway.”

He was staring at me wide-eyed. “That’s what Solas told you?”

“Uh huh.” This time he didn’t stop me when I reached past him for another bottle. Beer, not hard liquor. Probably just as well. “Marvelous end to a marvelous life,” I continued sarcastically as I paced around the room. “Get yanked out of my entire life at thirteen to get locked up for eighteen fucking _years_ for the crime of being born with an ability that _scares_ people. _Finally_ manage to walk away from that, do the Circle a bloody favor and go to the Conclave just to end up with Solas’ bloody Anchor embedded in my hand. Make the best of _that_ and actually manage to put together some sort of life despite everything. And what do I end up with?”

I drank more and turned abruptly toward Dorian, nearly losing my balance in the process. I think sheer rage powered my reflexes enough to recover. “A load of bureaucratic twats demanding I play politics with them, never mind that we all worked our asses off to save _their_ miserable asses. Knowing that _another_ insane, ancient demigod is going to do his level best to destroy the world just a few years after we put down the _last_ one. Every nitwit in southern Thedas wanting me to _fix_ everything for them — never mind that I _might_ have a few problems of my own — and then wanting me to kindly fuck off once I'm done fixing things. Oh – and I _lost_ my fucking left _arm_. And _just_ to top everything off with an extra candy coating, the only person I’ve ever loved is going to _fuck off_ because when it comes right down to it, playing savior in his own country is more important and I’m not _invited_.”

I was shouting again. Dorian still hadn’t said anything; he was just watching me with a stricken look on his face. “So I’ll say it one more time.” Then I did something I’ll never quite forgive myself for. “ _Fuck off_ , Dorian.”

And I threw a force spell at him. Not a strong one, but he wasn’t prepared for it and it sent him flying hard into the wall behind him. I didn’t even apologize. Just turned away from him and threw myself onto the couch. I heard him walk across the room and out the door without a word.

I’m not going to lie — I actually did cry into my beer for a bit then passed out for a bit more. Not my proudest moment. I was still definitely drunk when I woke up, but not _as_ drunk and quite a lot more coherent. The room had grown dim; I lit a few wall sconces with a thought and tried to remember what had happened between now and when I’d first started to drink. Unfortunately it all came back to me with a clarity that’s not supposed to happen when one’s gotten good and drunk. I reached for another drink, then thought better of it and found the water pitcher instead.

 _Well, now you’ve really gone and fucked things up, “Inquisitor”, You have successfully crossed the line from drunk and bitchy into drunken asshole. Congratulations. Way to make everything even worse than it already was._ My mind seemed to be taking some perverse pleasure in replaying the moment I’d thrown the force spell in what I now saw was a fit of pique. I’ve never been suicidal, but I have to admit, for the first time since I was an adolescent newly dragged into the Ostwick Circle, the concept did briefly cross my mind as a potentially viable one. _It’d just be speeding up what Solas has planned for us._

I don’t know how long I’d been chasing that circular quagmire of thought around before I heard someone enter the room behind me. I didn’t even want to look. I was sure it was going to be Dorian, and I didn’t see how I could face him. 

“You need to talk to me.”

Not Dorian at all. I looked up to see Cole looking down at me. I nodded slowly. “Yes. I think I do.”

He sat in the chair across from me, regarding me with a sort of analytical calm. I'd seen that look on his face before, but rarely directed at me. I tried to stop slouching into the couch. I realized I hadn’t the slightest idea what to say or how to start. _I’m drowning_ was my first thought, but I didn’t see that being a very useful opening gambit. I needn’t have worried — Cole started talking first in that almost-musical rhythm he takes on when he’s ‘hearing’ someone.

“Flickerbook flickering animations, hurt drawn into every page. Magical etchings grant a seeming of beauty, like candyfloss made of spun glass; bite into the pretty and it cuts you to ribbons.” He tilted his head to one side, eyes seeming to look through me. “I’m still drowning,” he echoed my thought back at me.

I gaped at him. “How did you..?”

“You’ve been screaming for hours.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry – I didn’t know before. The Anchor was always too loud.”

 _Screaming for hours?_   That was unsettling on so many levels I couldn’t even begin to think about it. “I –“ I shocked myself by biting back a sob. “Am I that bad?” I wasn’t even sure what I meant by that.

“ ‘Bad’ ?” He looked at me curiously. “There’s no bad. Just circles. Too hurt, too tired, lost in leaden grays; light flickers and fades when it becomes too heavy. Finally flailing, fleeing, fighting, lashing out to keep from sinking under.”

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. This was cutting _way_ too deep. “Maker,” I essayed a weak laugh, “No wonder you scare people sometimes. So what do I do about it?”

“What do you _want_ to do about it?”

“What I want doesn’t enter into it,” I said bitterly.

“Why not? Don’t you matter?”

I blinked at the straightforward question and actually took a moment to think about it. “I’d like to,” I said slowly, “but no. I don’t feel like I do. The Inquisitor matters. Kai Trevelyan?” I shrugged. “He just dumbfucked into the role.”

“You really think that?” He sounded unconvinced.

“You have any idea how hard it was to get even my so-called friends to call me by name?”

“But they do now,” he pointed out.

I sighed. “I'm whining, aren't I.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Most of us know it irritates you more than it used to."

"Having everyone think of you only as your job description gets old surprisingly fast."

"But you made the role more than it was. You know that," Cole pointed out.

"Maybe too much more. That's the problem. I don't want to be The Inquisitor any more."

He cocked his head to one side, looked at me curiously. "You don't _have_ to be."

"But people don't seem to want me to be just Kai," I objected.

"Which people?" He waited while I thought that one through.

"The ones who never cared in the first place?"

He gave me a slight smile. "See? You already know. Just like you know if you let the hurt eat you, it will.”

“I don’t know how to stop it anymore,” I admitted.

“Then let us help you,” he replied.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“You start by knowing what you want,” he said as if it were perfectly obvious.

“I can’t have that,” I said flatly. “I want Solas to give up his mad plan. I want my arm back. I want to stay with Dorian. Of course, he probably hates me now, so-“

“Dorian doesn’t hate you,” Cole interrupted in a tone that suggested I was being ridiculous.

“You don’t know what I did.” I looked away.

“Yes I do. And Dorian understands.” He waited until I met his eyes again. “He was feeling bad too. I helped.”

“I… Thank you for that, Cole.”

He shrugged. “I like to help.”

I rubbed my eyes and gave my head a shake. “Cole, I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by all this right now. Do you think we could talk more later?”

“If you like.” He stood up. “Did you want someone to bring you coffee?”

I laughed a little shakily. “Yes, I would. Did you read that from me too?”

“No, I just know how much you like it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Good night, Kai.” 

As the door closed I stood up and busied myself cleaning up some of the mess I’d made. It wasn’t long before a knock signaled the arrival of the coffee. I opened the door to find Dorian standing there with the container and two cups. I stepped back and he entered the room.

I closed the door and followed him to the sitting area, watched as he sat in the seat Cole had just vacated, poured two cups and stirred what I always considered a stupid amount of sugar into his. I returned to my seat on the couch and took a sip of coffee. He followed suit, his expression unreadable. I knew it was up to me to start.

“I’m an asshole.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Continue.”

“I acted like a typical drunk and I took my problems out on you. If there’s any way I can possibly make it up to you I will. And…I’m sorry. I wish I had a more eloquent way to say it.” I looked away, stared at the coffee making little ripples in my cup.

“I was very upset with you, you know,” he said. “Giving me a magical sucker punch like that.”

I nodded. That panicky, hurt feeling was starting to gnaw at me again.

“Kai. Look at me,” he said sternly. I did as he asked. “I also get the feeling you’re not likely to do it again. And if you do, I promise you I’ll hit you back harder.”

I smiled slightly as the panic subsided. “Agreed. In fact, I insist."

This time both eyebrows went up. "Careful what you ask for. From what I understand, that's more in The Iron Bull's bailiwick, but if you're going to insist..."

I almost said _Too bad you won't be around long enough to explore that idea_ , but given what had just happened, I didn't want to touch the subject of his leaving even obliquely. Instead I just smiled at him and drank my coffee.

He smoothed his mustache and fiddled with the tips; a nervous tic that meant he was deciding how to say something. “Amatus, why didn’t you _tell_ me how you were feeling?” he demanded.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How much did Cole tell you?”

“Enough to find out this has been going on for a very long time.”

I shook my head. “No, not going on. Building. It appears I now know where my limit is.”

“And I repeat, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” I shrugged and set down my cup. “There wasn’t time. We got back, I slept for a day and a half, you had appointments and I stupidly got drunk." I ran a hand across my head; my own nervous tic. Realized with a touch of surprise that I felt hair long enough that it had passed the sandpaper stage. _Damn._

"Not _now_ , amatus; before, when it was still building. You could have told me then. I could have - I don't know - helped, somehow."

I made a noise that wasn't quite a laugh. "You were in Tevinter, love. Like I said, it's been since you left that it dawned on me how much I didn't want to be Inquisitor anymore." I looked him in the eyes. "Dorian, _I_ didn’t even know how badly I was fucking up until I did.”

He nodded, said slowly, "You know, we also haven't taken into account how the Anchor may have been affecting you. Do you realize I've never known you when you didn't have that thing embedded in your hand?"

I blinked in surprise. "That never even occurred to me. You haven't, have you? In fact, no one I know now has. Andraste's tits…that's almost creepy."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," he said with a half-smile, "Odd, maybe, but creepy?"

"Just to think that there's not one person that knew me before…" I gave my head a shake. "You're not suggesting it affected my personality somehow? Of course, how would you know? How would _I_ know?"

He laughed. " _No_ , Kai. I think you're right - it was just a dumb parasite. _I'm_ talking recently now. It was starting to eat away at you — everyone could see it. We just didn't realize what we were looking at. It was right in front of us, but easy to overlook because, as we've established, the whole time we've all known you, the Anchor was a part of you."

"True," I conceded. "It was starting to do some rather…awful things. I'm not saying that excuses my behavior tonight, but it did contribute to how badly I've been feeling."

“I thought as much,” he said, looking rather pleased with himself. “Besides, at this point I’ve been with you long enough to know that you’re not normally a mean drunk.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Implying that you’ve also seen me drunk often enough.”

“No more often than vice versa, amatus.”

I sighed. “Fair enough.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Asked lightly, but his eyes were penetratingly serious.

I sighed again, drank a little more coffee as I considered the question. “I don’t know. Probably. It was just…too much all at once. Not like just getting physically hurt; I've gone through that before and never felt half so-" I paused, searching for the right word "-broken." 

Dorian winced. "Maybe I could find some way to stay, at least for a while. At least until you're feeling better."

I shook my head, smiling. "No. You can't. I love you for suggesting it, but I won't do that to you. You _need_ to go home right now, I know that. If you stay, you'll just end up resenting me." 

"I w-" he began to protest, then laughed softly. "Damn you, you're right. You do know it's not because I've discovered my inner power monger, I hope."

"It's nothing on your level, but my family _is_ minor nobility," I reminded him. "I was there long enough before they dragged me to the Circle to know how these things work. Matters of succession trump _any_ personal relationship."

"Now treble that thought and you'll be approaching the Tevinter version." He looked me in the eyes and reiterated, "But I need to know you're going to be all right."

I drank some coffee, examined my left arm. "I’ll get used to not having the arm, I suppose. We were already afraid it was going to end up like this.”

He nodded. “Well, at least it was considerably less bloody and painful than we’d anticipated.”

“Mnh,” I grunted in agreement. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, though I'm glad to be shut of the Anchor. Still, I can look into options to make it more bearable.”

“Perhaps a series of prostheses equipped with _gadgets_ ,” Dorian said brightly.

“There is a certain appeal to that,” I admitted. “Of course there’s no question now I’m going to disband the Inquisition. That’ll take care of that headache and the Exalted Council in one fell swoop.”

“I do so want to see the looks on their faces when you take all their fun away,” Dorian smirked.

“That just leaves two things,” I continued. “Solas – which I promise I’ll tell all of our people about first thing tomorrow. I’d rather not have to go through it all more than once.”

He shook his head. “ _Venhedis._ What is it with ancient godlets always wanting to remake the entire world? They can never be content to just modernize their wardrobe and bring back musical theatre.”

I chuckled. “And people wonder why I love you. Which brings us to the last thing plaguing me.”

“Us,” he finished. “What you said…earlier. That really is how you feel, isn’t it.”

“Yes,” I said bluntly. “You may have noticed that I’m somewhat skilled at extrapolating an accurate conclusion from a relatively scant amount of evidence.” I counted off my points on my fingers as I recited them. “One: It’s not just us southerners that are prejudiced against ‘Vints’ — it goes both ways. Two: You told me yourself that relationships between two men are not considered serious _ever_. And three: I happen to be freakishly good at leading people and somehow getting them to do what I want. Put it all together and you get ‘Stay away, Kai’ .”

He frowned. “Would it help if I admit you’re damnably correct about that as well?”

“Beyond a vague sense of vindication, no.”

“I did think about what you said when you were spitting my own words back at me, you know.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I began.

He held up a hand. “No. Let me finish. I can understand how it sounded like I was...jealous of your success, I suppose? Wanting to one-up you? I just hope _you_ understand it’s nothing of the sort. It just got me thinking that I am in a position to help my homeland as much as I’ve seen you help the south. Even more so now.”

“I _do_ understand that,” I sighed, “But what in the world makes you think I’d want to take over and run everything?” I smiled slightly, “Even more so now.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t do it on purpose, amatus. You’d just see some small thing I may have overlooked, for instance, and take care of it. Or someone would need help with something and you’d do it to be expedient. And the next thing you know, you’d be running that thing and five more besides, and you’d honestly be surprised when you’re told you’re one of the leaders of our little faction. “

“You have a point,” I conceded. “But all you’d have to do is tell me ‘Kai, you’re running things again’ and I’d gladly stop. Is it really that horrible that I just want to be with you?”

“Of course not!” He gave me a troubled look. “But the other two points you mentioned...could make things terribly difficult for us. Not just for you and I, but for what we want to do in the Magisterium, the changes we want to implement. We’re already facing an uphill battle to be taken seriously, let alone influence policy.”

“Ah,” I said sourly. “Now _that_ makes sense.”

“Believe me, I like it as little as you do. The thing is,” he said earnestly, “if I can _make_ those changes, if we can get Tevinter on a track to actually realize its potential, to _become_ the land I know it can be, then some of those prejudices can be done away with too. We can-“

“Dorian,” I interrupted, “I’m thirty-seven years old. I’m not sure I’ve got enough time to wait for the kind of changes you’re talking about.”

It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him speechless. With that small success I wasn't going to continue to belabor the subject. I half-smiled at him and continued, “Anyway, none of it will matter if we don’t stop Solas, so for the time being I’ll resign myself to a long distance relationship. Will you at least let me visit from time to time?”

“Of _course_. I’d be terribly put out if you didn’t,” he said, clearly relieved. 

“I suppose I should be pleased that for once the source of the disapproval of me has nothing to do with my being a mage,” I said philosophically.

He smirked. “It’s actually one of the things working in your favor where Tevinter is concerned. _At least he’s a powerful mage,_ they’d say. _If only he were female – just think of the powerful mage babies they’d make._ ” 

“Yech.”

He fixed me with stern stare. “Now. If we’re done hashing all this out for moment, can I tell you something _very_ serious?”

He was up to something. “What is it?” I said suspiciously.

“Come with me.” He offered me a hand up off the couch and led me to the bedroom. No, not for that. He lit the wall sconces with a thought and pulled me next to him in front of the mirror over the dresser. “This is, without a doubt, the _hairiest_ I’ve seen you since that fade demon tried to disembowel you years ago.”

"Andraste's furry ass…How did it grow that fast?" My head was covered with thick, black hair – still very short, but longer than I’d seen it in years - and my face was heading into neatly-trimmed-beard territory.

"I think it has to do with time being bit _fluid_ when you start crossing through multiple eluvians," Dorian said with a degree of academic enthusiasm.

"I was thinking that too," I agreed. "But you're not-"

"I shaved, of course. You _have_ been a bit preoccupied the past few days," he pointed out dryly.

"I look…"

"Professorial?" he suggested.

I frowned at my reflection. "I was going to say I look like a thug.“

“A very well-groomed thug, perhaps,” Dorian said skeptically.

“There are such things as well-groomed thugs. I suppose I could consider that as a career choice if the Jenny thing doesn’t work out. How did I not notice this this morning?”

“You were far too busy staring at your arm,” Dorian reminded me. “Solas could have grafted a set of Qunari horns to your head and I don’t think you would have noticed.”

“Well I’m noticing now. How fucking much weight have I lost lately?”

“Enough that you nearly qualify as gaunt. I’ve been assured you should be able to get back to normal in no time. Why do you think I approved so quickly of your wanting to disband the Inquisition.”

“Because you’re as sick of Skyhold as I am at this point?”

He smiled. “Well, there is that too. How you people can stand that much cold for that much time is beyond me.”

“ ‘You people’? I’m from Ostwick, remember? I’m no more used to that sort of cold than you are. You _asked_ someone about me?”

“You’d been looking...worn down for a while now, But when I saw you after being gone for a month, I saw enough of a change that...” he smoothed his mustache and fiddled with the tips for a moment. “Well, I got worried.”

I thought about it. “That’s nice, I suppose. I wish you’d told me how bad I was looking. I don’t know how much of it was from the Anchor and how much of it was from the job.”

“I suspect they’re equally to blame.” He turned just a bit, surreptitiously checking his profile. “Though the last few days have exacerbated it.”

I scowled at the mirror. “Maker’s breath, between the weight loss and this hair I look like I’m going to murder someone when I’m not even thinking anything of the sort.” 

“It does give you a rather...feral look,” Dorian agreed, then chuckled. “I know people who have tried desperately to achieve that look for years and not once succeeded as well as you have.”

“Hah. All you need to do is fight Qunari incessantly while being consumed by a magical parasite. They clearly haven’t tried hard enough.”

“Well, you _are_ talking about the sorts of people who think if it’s not achievable before tea time then it’s not worth their effort. You shouldn’t be scratching at the beard, you know.”

“It itches,” I complained. “Help me get this off, will you? I'm shaky enough I don't quite trust myself with a razor. Especially with my dumb hand being the only option."

"Keep insulting it like that and it'll _never_ take a shine to you."

"Please?" I tried to look pathetic, which admittedly wasn't much of a stretch at the moment.

He sighed dramatically. "The things I do for you. Fine. I find your current look disconcerting. But you have to do something for me first."

"Anything. What?"

" _Please_ go clean your teeth. After six kinds of booze _and_ coffee, your breath could kill a fennec at ten paces."

"Sorry." I headed to the wash basin. "There was one thing I enjoyed today though."

"And that would be?"

"Shooting little lightning bolts. I was getting pretty good at it."

"And you wonder why we make non-mages nervous."


	19. Day 5 - Easy Decisions

I was feeling almost normal when I got up the next morning. Slightly congested - which always happens when I've drank too much - and my body was trying to tell me my left arm was both there and sore, but it was a vast improvement over the previous few days. _Which means it's time to play Inquisitor again_. I grabbed my clothes and went into the other room to wrestle them on, as Dorian was still a mostly non-descript lump under the covers. 

It didn’t go too badly, except for one frightening moment when I lost my balance and instinctively reached out to stop myself with my left hand, which of course wasn’t there. Fortunately I landed on the couch instead of going face-first onto the floor or into the edge of a table, but it was a sobering reminder that I was going to need to slow down and pay more attention to what I was doing, at least until I got used to my new situation.

I ventured briefly out of the suite to flag down a servant (another human, oddly), then back in. While I was waiting for the coffee to show I puzzled over whether it would be possible to modify a kinetic spell to do something as finicky as tying boot laces.

I had just poured my first cup when Dorian came yawning out of the bedroom, already fully dressed. He stopped and stared at me with feigned shock. “You’re up before me? You’re never up before me.”

“I was hungry. And I think I’ve slept so much the last few days that my body finally decided it had had quite enough, thank you. Have some coffee.”

“Well, _you’re_ sounding chipper.” Dorian poured a cup and then ruined it again. “You ate, then?”

“No, having it brought in. Maker, why don’t you just forego the illusion of a beverage and eat the sugar straight out of the bowl?”

He smirked. “Oh, I do this solely to torture you now. So how long do you think you can get away with hiding in this suite?”

“Not very,” I admitted. “But hopefully long enough to-“ I paused as a knock came at the door. Dorian got up to answer it. It was either the food or

“Leliana,” Dorian said. “Come in!”

“The Inqu- Kai invited me in to get him caught up,” she said as she entered and sat down. I nodded my thanks that she’d called me by name rather than job title.

“And eat, if you haven’t,” I added. The food arrived a few moments later and we busied ourselves with that for a time. 

Once the servants had cleared the remains of breakfast away, it was time to get up to speed on what had been going on while I was having my personal crisis.

“You know, it’s going to be some time before I can eat at any kind of formal occasion,” I observed. “I never realized how much of dining is a two-handed affair.”

“You didn’t do that badly,” Dorian said. “Though it is considered polite to cut one’s steak into bite-sized pieces before eating it.”

“It wouldn’t hold still. But that’s my point. I shall have no choice but to forswear formal dinners for the foreseeable future.”

“Which clearly distresses you no end,” Dorian added.

“Oh, quite.” I turned to Leliana, who had been watching with a slight smile on her face. “Well, it’s time I do this: You’d best fill me in on what’s been happening the last few days.”

"It's mostly what'd you'd expect," she said, all businesslike now. "Poor Josie's being run ragged. Teagan and his people have been screaming to the heavens about your effrontery at snubbing them for days."

"Yes, how dare he stop a Qunari invasion and lose an arm when there are important questions about whether the Inquisition damaged the dog motifs in Caer Bronach," Dorian observed dryly.

"Orlais, meanwhile, has been acting like a long-suffering aunt whose favourite nephew has been misbehaving. Much hand-wringing about the woeful lack of a guiding presence now that the Inquisition doesn't have a clear agenda."

"As you said, expected," I said. "I'm more interested in anything unusual."

"Would the elves count?" Dorian said to Leliana.

"Elves?" I echoed.

"It certainly qualifies as odd," Leliana agreed. "The Winter Palace and, as near as we can tell, many of the other estates in Orlais, have been experiencing something of a hemorrhage of elven servants just…leaving. No one seems to know where they are, either. It's as though they disappeared."

"Shit," I said. "Shit, shite, _kaffas._ Okay, the bloody ambassadors are just going to have to suffer for one more day. I plan on cutting them off at the knees anyway. I need to talk to our people today. _Without_ anyone else listening in."

"Between you three mages and my people, that shouldn't be difficult," Leliana pointed out.

"True," I conceded. "And I need Cassandra to come as Cassandra, not Divine Victoria. Trying to look at that hat when I'm trying to talk about something serious would throw me right off."

"I doubt you'll hear any objection from her," Leliana smiled. "When do you want this to happen?"

"Couple hours," I said. "Give everyone some time to drop whatever they're doing while Josie makes excuses to the ambassadors again. We'll need a room that's big enough and easy to secure."

Leliana nodded. "We've got one. Anything else?"

"Will there be snacks?" Dorian asked.

"Of course there will." I said, turning to Leliana, "There must be snacks. Make it so."

"As you say, Inquisitor. If there's nothing else..?"

"That's it. But don't get too used to calling me that again."

"Perish the thought." She stood up. "Two hours, then." She told us the location of the room she had in mind and left.

Dorian looked at me measuringly. "You seem to be all the way back. Are you up to this?"

"Got no choice," I said with a sigh. "If need be I'll fall to pieces later."

**###**

Leliana had outdone herself. The room had a round table big enough to seat the twelve of us that had become the Inquisition's inner circle over the years, and there were snacks.

Once everyone had arrived, Dorian, Vivienne and I warded the room so anyone not invited wouldn't be able to get near the place or hear a thing. Cullen had brought his dog, who was now sitting by the door, ready to take a chunk out of anyone who might somehow breach the wards.

I thanked everyone for coming, and for covering for me the last few days, then got down to business. "There are just a few things I need to cover with all of you; hopefully this won't take long. First - I'm sorry, Josie, but I'm going to blow off the Exalted Council one more day. Give them any excuse you want, though it seems to me involuntary amputation should be sufficient."

"They'll accept it whether they want to or not," she said firmly.

"Thank you. Now before I get to the bit you're _really_ curious about…most of you already know or at least suspected this, but this is me making it official. Tomorrow when the Exalted Council does convene, I'm disbanding the Inquisition."

It was interesting watching the reactions of the ones who didn’t already know. Bull and Blackwall (or Rainier, I should say) gave identical, expressionless nods; it must be a professional soldier thing. Sera said “Yay!”; I shot her a quick grin. Varric muttered “Ha!” and sat there looking pleased with himself — knowing him, he just won a wager about it. Josie looked positively relieved. Cullen was also nodding, but he looked sympathetic. Vivienne raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at me; as is quite often the case I couldn’t read what she was thinking. Only Cassandra looked put out.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she said unhappily. 

“At this point it’s the only idea. At least for me,” I amended. “When you hear the rest of it, you’ll see why. Though I have to admit, I was going to do it regardless. I’m sorry, Cassandra, but I just don’t have it in me to Inquisit anymore.”

“What about Skyhold?” Varric asked, sounding mildly curious.

I shrugged. “If Cassandra or one of you has a use for it, you’re welcome to it. I’m going back long enough to get my belongings and do whatever needs to be done to wrap things up there, then I’m shut of it.”

“But there’s so much the Inquisition could still do,” Cassandra protested.

“And that would be my perfect segue,” I took a drink of water and looked everyone in the eyes as I swept my gaze around the table. “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that I returned from our adventure through the eluvians minus one arm…and the Anchor, of course. I apologize for making you all wait for an explanation, but I was really in no condition to say much of anything, as I’m sure Dorian could tell you.”

Dorian nodded. “I’m hearing most of this for the first time too.”

“Right, then.” I paused for a moment to arrange my thoughts, then told them all about my final conversation with Solas in as much detail as I could remember.

“So that’s the situation,” I concluded. “He’s out there somewhere, in control of the eluvians, gathering his people for a return to the good old days as he remembers them. He seemed fairly confident that there’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

“But surely we’d stand a better chance with the power of the Inquisition intact,” Cassandra said.

“You mean the same Inquisition where Solas’ spies were tripping over the Qun’s spies?” Bull asked.

“Which meant they were undoubtedly distracted enough to not notice the spies from Ferelden, Orlais and Andraste knows how many other lands.” Varric added. “Makes you wonder how big the Inquisition really is if you removed them all.”

“Exactly,” I said. “The Inquisition is too unwieldy now. It’s already becoming corrupt, it has no particular mandate to focus on, and I can’t make it any more clear that I have no interest in continuing as its leader. You’re more than welcome to elect a new one, but I honestly don’t see the point. Solas _knows_ us. All of us. He knows how we operate, how we work together, how we _think_ within the milieu of the Inquisition. Strengths, weaknesses, even who to target for – just as an example – assassination or corruption in order to cause the greatest hurt.”

“Kai is correct,” Leliana took over. “If we want to build an effective opposition to Solas, we will need to do it from the shadows.”

“And come up with some new tactics,” Cullen added. “Or at least ones he won’t expect.”

“Which is where organizations like the Jennys come in,” I nodded at Sera, who looked momentarily surprised. “If they so desire, they could easily adapt themselves into an effective network to both investigate and oppose Solas.” I just hoped Sera agreed with me; Dorian saying _We both know you’d end up taking over_ was very much in the back of my mind.

“There is much I may be able to do in Antiva,” Josephine mused.

“We all have contacts and resources we can utilize outside the purview of the Inquisition,” Vivienne said. “I agree it is time we do so.”

“And I, for one, have had quite enough of Skyhold’s winds whistling through my unmentionables,” Dorian quipped. Almost everyone chuckled or nodded in agreement; the break in the tension seemed to signal the end of our meeting.

“I’ll be talking to you all individually before we head our separate ways, but was there anything else at the moment?” I asked.

It appeared there wasn’t. The meeting simply broke up into general conversation and joking as people polished off the snack trays. 

“You know this is probably the last time everyone will be together.” Cole had somehow appeared at my side without my noticing.

I nodded. “The thought was just occurring to me.”

“You did well. They’re all happy with your decision.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Even Cassandra?”

“She’s not happy about it, but she knows you’re right.”

“I’ll accept that,” I said. “Are you happy with it?”

“Yes,” he smiled slightly. “Maryden has asked me to come with her. She’ll make people happy with her music, and I’ll help them.”

“That sounds wonderful for both of you,” I said, meaning it.

“We will come back if you need us,” he added.

“Thank you. Um, Cole?” I had to know. 

He looked at me questioningly.

“You don’t- You don’t still hear me screaming, do you?”

He unfocused (or was it focusing?) for a moment, then shook his head. “No. But don’t be Inquisitor any more. Not even if they ask you. Dark, draining, drowning, knows you finds you damns you, easy to break when you know the harmonic.”

“I don’t entirely know what you mean, but I believe you,” I said with an internal shudder. “I should probably talk to some of the others now.”

“Of course.” Then he surprised me by reaching over to give my shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Take care of yourself, Kai.” He walked away.

Aside from answering the inevitable questions about Solas and the sudden loss of my arm, I deliberately kept my conversations with everyone light. It appeared the others had all realized this was likely our last gathering as well, and it wasn’t long before random talk had somehow gelled into a plan to leave the Winter Palace and go to the closest decent pub – a well-appointed inn somewhere between Halamshiral and Lydes, I think it was. Long story short, everyone ended up going, which surprised me a bit (though not everyone stayed ‘til the bitter end), and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. I shan’t go into detail because it really doesn’t pertain and it was a personal thing between those of us who’d been grinding in the Inquisition for years. No one talked shop, many bad jokes and tall tales got told, games were played, not much of anything got broken, we got back late, and I slept fairly well.


	20. Day 6 - A Dramatic Exit

"I fail to see why I should put this ridiculous jester outfit on."

Josephine sighed. "Because it's the official Inquisition uniform."

"Something I do not recall being asked for an opinion about."

"That's because everyone already knew you'd vote for black, amatus," Dorian said from his seat by the window. We were in an antechamber near the chamber where the Exalted Council was due to reconvene in a matter of minutes. "In some ways you really are terribly predictable."

"Maker's breath, Kai, it's one last time," Cullen chimed in from the back of the room. Even his bloody dog _wuff_ ed in agreement.

"Exactly. Which is why I don't particularly want their last memory of me to be the clown in the bright red jacket," I countered.

"Well, _I_ have to go out there in a moment and pretend everything is just as it was until you make your entrance, so I shall leave the bickering to the rest of you," Josephine proclaimed, sounding suspiciously pleased. "Leli," she nodded to Leliana, who'd been keeping out of it, "Gentlemen. See you all once the dust settles."

"You know, if you're that dead-set against it, you don't have to wear the entire outfit. Just the jacket would do," Dorian suggested. "It _does_ make the missing arm very noticeable."

I nearly rejected the idea purely out of habit, but it had some appeal. "Dorian, that idea just might be verging on brilliant. With a little tweaking, I think you'll appreciate the dramatic effect."

"You know I endorse anything that adds dramatic effect," 

"Then could you help me tie these laces?" I had switched back to my favourite boots. "They're laced, but I'll be twenty minutes trying to tie the blasted things."

"Two days and he's already taking shameless advantage," Dorian exaggerated to the room in general.

"Don't worry, I'll get one of these two to help with the bloody jacket and the rest." Leliana and Cullen looked up with identical _Who, me?_ expressions. "It's just you do the knots the way I like them."

Dorian favoured me with an arch look and a throaty laugh. "Flatterer."

"Do I want to be hearing this?" Cullen said rhetorically. I saw Leliana trying to hide a smile. 

"Just let me explain then help me with the rest of this? If I have to piss about with that sash, it'll ruin everything."

A short while later, I was ready and standing just outside the chamber waiting for my cue. In the time it had taken me to prepare, the ambassadors had already gone into full rant.

"…Yes, because this So-las provoked them in the first place!" Teagan was barking.

"The Inquisition did not cause this threat," Josie replied. "We informed the Summit of the danger."

"The danger posed by Qunari spies inside _your_ organization!"

"Without _our_ organization, none of us would be here to complain," Cassandra pointed out.

An armored guard opened the door for me and I strode purposefully into the chamber. It was packed with diplomats, their retinues, Chantry and those common folk lucky enough to snag gallery seats. Good.

Teagan sighed testily. "No one has forgotten what you have done. But Corypheus is two _years_ dead."

“If the Inquisition is to continue, it must do so as a legitimate organization, not a glorified mercenary band,” Cyril interjected.

I walked up to our table and stood next to Josephine. She did an admirable job of looking mildly surprised. Or perhaps she was, since I was wearing the garish red jacket. “Inquisitor,” she said.

I held the thick, heavy book I’d brought in with me high enough to display it to the consortium at the front of the chamber. “You all know what this is.” I paused, making sure everyone was paying attention. “A writ from Divine Justinia authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.” I turned, displaying the book to the rest of the crowd. In all honesty, it could just as well have been a book about Nevarran exports in the Blessed Age and it wouldn’t have mattered as long as it looked big and important. Basic showmanship, but it works.

“We pledged to close the breach,” I continued. “Find those responsible, and restore order, with or without anyone’s approval. We have fulfilled that pledge.” _Pause. Let them think about that._ “And now the war is over.” _Pause._ “For most of us.” _Pause._ “It is time for our soldiers to sheathe their swords and go home. To all who served – thank you.” I turned directly to Josephine. “It has been an honour.”

As we’d rehearsed, she took the book from me. I turned back to the audience. “Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded.”

Just as we’d hoped, there were gasps of surprise from many people in the crowd. 

As we hadn’t rehearsed, I undid the silly belt at the waist of the jacket as I walked to our table, tossed it down, pulled off the sash with one quick yank, then followed that with the jacket, which I also tossed on the table with a bit of a flourish. I paused, now wearing what I normally wear – black trousers and boots with a black pullover shirt I’d started favoring more the last few days - and looked over the assemblage briefly. I did not look back at the movers and shakers of the Exalted Council. I raised my hand briefly in what could either be construed to mean _farewell_ or _go fuck yourselves_ and strode out of the chamber without another word.

I heard the entire chamber erupt into chatter behind me as I sped up to a jog and slipped out a side entrance to the area of the grounds we’d all agreed to meet at once I’d dropped my bomb on them. Leliana was still back at the Council, having gone in just before I made my entrance, but Cullen and Dorian were already there along with Sera.

“How did it work?” Cullen asked.

“Brilliantly,” I told them. Before I’d gone in, Cullen and Leliana had gone at the jacket and sash with surgical precision, neatly bisecting them. Dorian had then cast a simple attraction spell on the pieces so they’d hold together until I gave them a good yank. That way the only thing I’d had to fiddle with was the belt clasp; my exit wouldn’t have been nearly as effective if the audience had had to watch me unwrap the entire sash then struggle with coat buttons.

“Shite, wish I’d seen it,” Sera snickered.

“It _was_ a good piece of theatre.” I allowed a bit of satisfaction to creep into my voice.

She looked at me curiously. “Soooo…does this mean you’re just people now?”

That surprised a laugh out of me. “I suppose I am, at least as far as everyone here at Halamshiral is concerned. It’s a rather pleasant feeling, actually.”

“Well, he’s just people with an estate and holdings in Kirkwall,” Varric said as he approached us.

“And noble parents in Ostwick,” Dorian added. “ _Wealthy_ noble parents.”

“All of which – I repeat - is somewhat less than nothing in the eyes of the people here,” I said. “You know what they think of Free Marchers.” I winked at Sera. "In no time at all, I'll be the wrong sort of whatever to all these people."

“Quite true, darling,” Vivienne purred as she walked up behind me. “But you _do_ retain an inordinate number of friends in high places. Stop that this instant!” The last was to Cullen’s dog, who was butting his head against her in an attempt to get patted.

“He likes you!” Cullen said.

“He _drools_ ,” she shuddered. 

“Surely no more so than some of the Orlesian nobles you hobnob with,” Dorian said sweetly.

Over the next several minutes we made desultory conversation as the others drifted in, until Josie, Leliana and Cassandra finally arrived. "Well, how did our announcement go over?" Cullen asked for all of us.

"Rather as we expected," Josephine said cheerfully. She turned her attention to me, "Ferelden is of course trying to take credit for your decision."

I shrugged. "Let them. It won't do them much good in the long run."

"And Orlais is desperately trying to find something to be outraged about," Leliana said with a slight smile. "They're not sure whether to go after you or Ferelden."

"What exactly did I do other than cut their Exalted Council off at the knees?"

"It was your parting wave. At least half of them think you were being rude."

I grinned. "Only half? I'm a bit surprised."

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that?" Cassandra demanded.

"It was the only way he'd wear the jacket," Dorian deadpanned. 

"You have to admit, it worked," I said. "And I've wanted to do that to those jackets for years." A brief description of my exit followed for the benefit of those who hadn't been there.

"Well, that's it, folks," Varric said. "No more Inquisition."

"It was a good run," Bull said. 

Everyone nodded in agreement and for a few moments no one said anything. It dawned on me that _we were all standing on a balcony looking at an idyllic view in companionable silence._ I was living a heroic cliché. Fortunately Blackwall broke the spell by saying, "So anyone up for a beer?" and everyone started drifting off on their own agendas; even Dorian walked away on some sort of errand.

I stood there a bit longer, rather enjoying the novel feeling of having nothing in particular to do. Within minutes Dorian rejoined me. "You hungry?"

"I could eat something," I allowed. "Will they still serve us?"

" _I_ am still the Tevinter ambassador, and you are an honoured guest of the Divine Victoria. They have no choice. Now," he gestured grandly, "if you'll follow me, I've already arranged to have our meal brought somewhere both picturesque _and_ private."

We ate a fine meal and talked about all manner of things that had absolutely nothing to do with the Inquisition, politics, mad demigods and the battling of such, or what was going to happen in the future. Eventually we wandered back to Dorian's suite (I never did set foot inside my quarters in the palace).

Dorian poured himself a glass of wine and handed me a beer as we settled on the couch. I lit the fire in the fireplace with a small spell, more for atmosphere than anything, and took a sip before saying, "So. This is it."

He nodded. "I'll be leaving before lunch. We need to at least get some hours on the road. It's a long trip."

"I won't pretend to be happy about it, but I suppose I'm resigned to it," I said.

"I had no intention of going back so soon, but now-"

I cut him off. "I know. If it was my father I'd probably want to go kill them all back too. As long as you've got to be there anyway, you may as well reform the entire country."

He smiled. "My thoughts exactly." He took a sip of wine, eyes looking at me searchingly over the top of his glass. "Kai, _are_ you going to be all right?"

I nodded. "I'll be fine. I've had my breakdown, so now I can get on with things. I seem to be constitutionally incapable of wallowing in self-pity for long. Although I can hold a grudge for quite a long time."

That got a laugh out of him. "Maker, I'm going to miss you. What are you going to do now?"

"Well, short-term I have to go back to Skyhold and wrap things up there. Sera's coming with me — ostensibly because I'm a Jenny now, but I suspect it has a great deal more to do with the fact that Dagna's still there."

"It _is_ suspiciously convenient for her," he agreed. "And then?"

"I've been told I get to pick a city; we'll see. The only things I really have in mind aside from finding a place I want to live — preferably some place with a _lot_ less winter — are getting something in motion to stop Solas in his tracks and looking into prostheses."

"Noble enough causes to start with. You know, once I get somewhat established, I expect you to come see me."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Just try to keep me away." I took a drink, stifled a burp. "Besides, I've never been to Tevinter. Might be interesting to go somewhere people actually approve of my being a mage."

"You haven't seen anything until you've seen Minrathous at night," he said dreamily. "The things I could show you…"

"I'll hold you to that," I promised. "But for now, this is our last night together. I propose we make the most of it."

Dorian grinned. "Agreed, good ser. Please commence."

What we did and said the rest of the night is private, and I intend it to remain that way. The only thing I will mention - because, yes, I'm more than a little pleased with myself - is I showed him what sorts of things are possible when you've achieved precise control over shooting very small lightning bolts.


	21. Afterwards

That pretty much wraps up the story of How I Lost My Arm. At least, leaving the Winter Palace is the logical stopping place for it. Depending on what happens over the next few years, I may feel compelled to write a sequel (preferably one that doesn't involve losing any more body parts), but for the time being I'll just provide a quick summary of what's been happening since.

Before Dorian left the next day, we had a quick meeting with Cass and Leliana, mainly to agree to keep in touch and try to mount some form of organized effort against Solas. It was more a promise than a plan. Dorian would have his hands full with the fallout from his father's assassination and his new position as Magister in the short term, I wasn't entirely sure where I was even going to be living yet, and Leliana hadn't been at all forthcoming with her plans. The few things we could say were we would need to use agents that Solas was unfamiliar with for the bulk of the campaign against him, and unfortunately for Dorian, it was looking like Tevinter was going to be the focal point for much of what was to come.

Then we said goodbye and Dorian left. Not much more I care to say about that.

Leliana and Cullen accompanied Sera and me back to Skyhold. Sera spent a few idyllic days making plans (and maker knows what else) with her "Widdle" while I sorted through all the things I'd collected over the years, trying to figure out what I  could and couldn't part with. Fortunately, I had the option of shipping the things I still wanted but couldn't cart around with me to my still-unseen estate in Kirkwall. I ended up sending a wagonload there; mostly souvenirs of the sometimes bizarre places I'd travelled as Inquisitor and gifts from friends. The things I felt were necessary to take with me would fit on a pack horse, probably with a bit of room to spare in case Sera had anything she needed to bring.

Many of the people at Skyhold had already departed, as Leliana's ravens had brought them the news of the Inquisition's disbanding long before we arrived. Those that were left were either still solidifying plans or — in the case of a very few — unsure where they were going to go from there. It looked like the place was going to lie vacant once again. Somehow that seemed appropriate.

We left Leliana finishing up whatever mysterious things she needed to finish in Skyhold, promising to keep in touch. I had no doubt she'd be able to find me no matter where I ended up settling. Cullen and his dog (which I hope he's named by now, or it's going to go through the rest of its life as Dog) accompanied Sera and me out of the mountains. I was surprised Dagna wasn't with us, but apparently she and Harritt were attempting to transport the entirety of the Undercroft along with them and coordinating that was proving to be a challenge.

We parted ways with Cullen once we left the foothills of the Frostbacks. He was heading back to Ferelden; we weren't. We bought fares on a merchant ship and sailed* to Val Royeaux; both of us had business we needed to conclude there.  


* * *

_* I could probably write a full chapter on that alone - sharing a cabin with Sera on a sea voyage was…an experience._

* * *

While Sera tended to whatever Red Jenny things she had going, I went up to the palace. Though I was technically something of a non-entity now, my stint as Inquisitor was recent enough that I didn't encounter any serious challenge to my right to be there. Say what you will, but my long leather coat and black palette (all right, the shaved head and missing arm may have helped too) made me pretty much instantly recognizable so I didn't have to piss about identifying myself repeatedly.

I was there to meet with Vivienne. As I said earlier, I was one of the few people in a position of power that supported the newly-formed College of Enchanters. She was a staunch supporter of the Circles and would now be able to smash the College if she so desired. She greeted me warmly and things started out well enough, but proceeded to cool quickly.

I won't try to transcribe everything word-for-word; a lot of it would probably feel rather repetitious if you weren't sitting there trying sway that maddening woman's opinion. She was firmly convinced that the bloody Circles are a bona fide Good Thing, and any _miniscule_ problems they posed could be solved by small, conservative reforms overseen by her and her people. _Darling._

My responses started out reasonable as I tried to get her to see my side of the issue, but as she continued to refuse to budge, they became variations on _You're talking out of your ass and you know fuck-all because you've never actually been trapped in a bloody sodding Circle, DARLING._

I'm not sure how out of hand it would have gotten if Cassandra hadn't shown up (I'd had plans to meet with her later, but apparently someone had alerted her when they heard shouting. _My_ shouting. Vivienne just sat there responding in the most condescending and/or bored tones she could summon up).

“What is going on here?” Cass demanded as she strode in. She was dressed in her Divine Victoria costume, minus the silly hat.

“ _You_ talk to her,” I growled. “She’s being a stubborn, condescending twat.”

“One could say the same of you, my dear, if one cared to descend to the gutter,” Vivienne shot back as she made a show of studying her nails.

“Both of you, stop it,” Cass commanded. “Do I even need to ask what this is about?”

“What is it ever about?” Vivienne intoned, boredom dripping from every syllable.

“Take one guess,” I said at the same time.

“You want to know what the new Grand Enchanter intends to do about the new College of Enchanters.”

“And that’s why she’s the Divine,” I said.

Cassandra looked at Vivienne. “Well, Grand Enchanter, what _do_ you intend to do?”

“It is disorganized, unnecessary and potentially dangerous,” Vivienne snapped. “My intent is to put an end to it.”

“You don’t know a damned thing about it and you haven’t so much as given them a chance _to_ get organized,” I snapped back.

“Kai, sit down please,” Cassandra said; I’d been pacing. “Thank you. I’ve heard what Vivienne thinks. What do you want? Do you want to banish the Circles in turn?”

“ _No_.” I took a deep breath and tried to bring my voice down to a normal register. “No, I’m not saying we should get rid of the Circles altogether. I’m very aware that for _some_ people they’re a wonderful thing. And that’s fine. But they do _not_ work for everyone, and it’s fucking barbaric to punish those people because other people are _afraid_ they might do something destructive.”

“It is not punishment,” Vivienne retorted. “It’s-“

“Fucking cruel, is what it is,” I snapped, cutting her off. “Honestly, do all you people think that only mages have the capacity to do something unspeakably violent and destructive? Would you like me to start recounting all the atrocities throughout history that _weren’t_ committed by mages? Because I assure you I can. I had eighteen _years_ in a Circle to read all the history books.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cassandra said quickly. “I know you feel strongly about this, but please try to stay on topic.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“You were saying what you would like to see happen,” she prompted.

“All I’m saying is give mages the choice. Those who feel safer and more secure in a Circle are more than welcome to join one. Though even they might feel better if you got the Templars to _back off_ ,”

Cassandra made an impatient noise.

“Sorry,” I said again, then picked up where I'd left off. “You want the Templars around in case of emergency? You want them there at harrowings? Fine. But there’s no bloody need to have them lurking at every corner, watching your every move, just _waiting_ for you to make one big enough mistake so they can recommend Tranquility or just kill you outright, not to mention ensuring that privacy is nothing but a pipe dream.”

“You’re straying off-topic again,” Cass pointed out mildly.

I sighed. “Gah. All I’m saying is for those of us who don’t require the level of oversight present in the Circles, the College could be ideal. I am all for giving mages proper training, and I do think that should, as much as possible, be required. That’s what colleges traditionally _do_.” 

“Oh please,” Vivienne rolled her eyes, “the College of Enchanters is no such thing. It’s just a gaggle of mages playing at politics.”

“So they should be encouraged to _become_ a real college. That way when you find a young mage, by all means send her to get trained. But as long as she proves that she can handle herself and she’s not a homicidal maniac or a blithering idiot, once she’s trained let her _leave_. You’d likely find some mages even choosing to stay at the college to teach, do research, whatever. But give us a chance to have a fucking life.”

“Like the paradise that is Tevinter?” Vivienne snarked.

“Bollocks. That’s always the argument: ‘Give the mages a little freedom and we’re going to turn into Tevinter’. It’s a specious conclusion and you bloody well know it,” I shot back.

“Enough,” Cassandra glared at both of us. “Vivienne. While his speech was not the most eloquent I’ve ever heard, I do think Kai has a valid point. He is walking proof that not every mage needs to be kept in a Circle, wouldn’t you say?”

Vivienne looked at her sulkily.

“As are you,” Cass continued. “As Kai said, you _have_ managed to avoid ever being kept in a Circle yourself, except on your terms. You’re as much an exception to your own rule as he is. And I notice that neither one of you has become possessed or gone on a murderous rampage.”

“I said I was willing to make some small concessions,” Vivienne protested.

I made a rude noise and Cassandra shot me a glare then returned her attention to Vivienne.

“That still sounds like a double standard. I honestly cannot find any fault with Kai’s position.” She stood. Somewhere along the line, she’d gotten the hang of looking regal. “Grand Enchanter Vivienne, I am asking you as Divine Victoria. Let the College of Enchanters alone. Let them discover if they can provide a viable alternative to the Circles that will still allow mages to train and live safely.”

Like a cat that was just seen doing something embarrassing, Vivienne acted like the last several minutes hadn't happened. She inclined her head graciously to Cassandra, "In the interests of amity between our two offices, I agree to your request. I do not support the College of Enchanters, but neither will I seek to disband them."

"Thank you, Grand Enchanter," Cass replied with equal grace. "Now if you have no objections, I would take my leave and ask Lord Trevelyan to accompany me."

"By all means. Fare well, the both of you." She gave Cassandra a shallow bow which Cass returned.

 _Well, if we're all going to play at being courtly…_ I bowed slightly to Vivienne as well. "A pleasure as always, Grand Enchanter. Though allow me to hope that our next exchange will be a touch more amicable."

"Quite," she said dryly, then switched tacks with bewildering speed. "You may want to consider exercising more caution, my dear. Remember, you no longer have the collective might of the Inquisition behind you."

"I'm well aware of that, Vivienne," I said flatly. "But that doesn't mean I can't still be dangerous."

Vivienne inclined her head, an inscrutable look on her face.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "Maker's breath! Vivienne, I will see you later. Kai, come with me."

"As you command, Your Grace." I grinned and followed her out the door.

**###**

I didn't intend to write that much about my meeting with Vivienne, but as you may have noticed, I'm rather touchy when it comes to that subject.

So, back to wrapping things up with a degree of brevity (something I don't seem to be particularly good at).

From what I've gathered, Josephine went back to Antiva. I haven't heard anything else about or from her, so I'm going to assume she's doing well. 

Cullen, as I said, returned to Ferelden. I know he was going for a long-overdue visit with his family (something I need to consider myself at some point. Gah.). After that, I think he may have said something about wanting to help other former Templars, but I have to admit I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention when he said it.

Blackwall - excuse me, Thom Rainier - has apparently made redemption his life's work. I don't know if he had more of his old unit to make apologies to or not, but he said something or other about helping others to have a second chance. Not sure what that means exactly, but it seems to make him…not happy, precisely, but satisfied.

Iron Bull and his Chargers have gone back to mercenary work. I'm sure they'll be very successful at it. He also assured me that whenever and wherever I need some asses kicked, he'll be there.

Varric went back to Kirkwall, of course. I'm planning on going there shortly both to see him and to check out my estate, not that I'm even sure what counts as an estate there. I'm rather looking forward to it.

I haven't seen Leliana since we took leave of Skyhold, but she assured me she'll be in touch (for one thing, I did get her to confirm she owes me a black nug from the next litter). I know she's working on the Solas problem, and I have no doubt we'll hear from her once she has something up and running.

Sera I see almost daily. I've got some ideas about the Jennys, but I'm being very careful to run them by her and leave it to her to make the final decisions. Despite my ability to do so, I really don't want to start running everything again. Unless in future I actually need to (which would be yet another reason I'd like to bitch-slap Solas/Fen'Harel around every inch of that precious Fade of his). In the meantime, we do things. Sometimes it has to do with righting wrongs, sometimes it’s just for fun. Dorian was right - being a Jenny suits my personality perfectly.

And me? Well, I did end up in a city with Sera (and it doesn’t rhyme with ‘arse’, if that was that blonde Jenny’s idea of humour). I bought a rather nice house.* It’s nowhere near as luxurious as my quarters at Skyhold, but it’s mine and that makes all the difference.  


* * *

_* You don’t honestly think I gave every bit of money I amassed to the Inquisition, do you? I put aside a percentage of everything I sold, negotiated finders fees for several of the mining sites we discovered and marked and in general tried to make damn sure that when it all ended – and we all knew it was going to end at some point – I wouldn’t be left skint and having to go beg money off my family like I did when I left the Circle._

* * *

I’ve become accustomed to only having half a left arm. Some days are worse than others. There’s this thing called ‘phantom pain’ that happens, where your body or mind (I’m not sure who the culprit is) starts screaming at you that the arm is there and it bloody hurts. It can be anywhere from mildly annoying to get-drunk-enough-to-pass-out-so-it’ll-stop. I can only hope it’ll abate with time. I still run into balance issues at times, usually when I least expect it. On the positive side, I’ve been talking to both a brilliant dwarven artificer I met at a local pub and Dagna about prostheses. Some “with _gadgets_ ”, as Dorian said, and possibly something that’s both mechanical and rune-powered, though that will take some time if it’s even possible. In the meantime, I’ve been playing with the idea that a prosthetic arm could actually act as a replacement for a staff; all you’d have to do is imbue it with the same spells as a staff when it’s being made. You could easily add runes and/or foci to it, and suddenly you can walk around with something that does the same thing as a staff without having to carry a bloody great staff around advertising “Hey! I’m a mage!”. 

Heh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to talk shop. 

I suppose I need to mention Dorian. He made it to Tevinter safely, and he’s got his work cut out for him there. I’m glad he has Maevaris with him; she’s delightful _and_ brilliant. We talk virtually every night, sometimes just for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours. I miss him terribly, of course, but I have quite a few things to keep me busy. It’s another ‘some days are worse than others’ thing, but we all have those. We are discussing when I should make the trek to Tevinter. It will be reasonably soon, I think. Once I’ve got some working prosthetics and pay my visit to Kirkwall, I figure I could hook up with some group or another travelling that way and continue north. Maybe hire myself out as an outrider; Maker knows I have enough combat experience to take on a few highwaymen. As Dorian would say, it’ll be an _adventure_.

Finally, there’s the one thing I’ve barely touched upon – Solas/Fen’Harel and his mad plan to destroy the world. 

We tried to tell the various heads of state throughout southern Thedas of Solas's plan, and for the most part were met with resounding indifference. As I indicated at the beginning, most of them simply can't accept the idea that elves could be a real danger. I also think some of them (I am looking at you, Arl Teagan) shrugged it off because they just didn't like the Inquisition. Perhaps Dorian will have a little more luck in Tevinter, but I highly doubt it. The Qunari are in their faces all the time, whereas elves are just an underclass barely worthy of notice. Getting any of them to heed the warnings before the world falls to pieces is going to be an uphill battle at best.

I really can’t say much else, partially because any plans we may have are in their infancy, and partially – and this should be obvious – because if I say too much, he could easily find out what we’re up to. Bastard knows too much already without me blabbing secrets in what amounts to a therapeutic vanity project. So you’ll excuse me if I just leave it at the son of a bitch ( _get it? Dread Wolf? Son of a bitch? Sorry, that's probably a sign I should wrap this up._ ) needs to be stopped. 

If we manage to, _then_ maybe I’ll write a tell-all book about what happened. If Varric doesn’t beat me to it.

 _Vitae benefaria_ ,

Kai Trevelyan  
9:44 Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic in a very long time; hope you enjoyed it!  
> Obviously the dialogue written by BioWare belongs to them.
> 
> For those who are interested in such things, working playlist was: ASP - Verfallen Folge 1: Astoria / Empyrium - Into the Pantheon / Samsas Traum - Poesie: Friedrich's Geschichte / Antimatter - Fear of a Unique Identity / Fields of the Nephilim - Mourning Son


End file.
